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THE  NORTH) 

AND  OTHER  POEMS 

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(A  STORY  OF  THE  NORTH) 

AND  OTHER  POEMS 

BY 

farter  fitts 


SMITH-BROOKS  PRESS 

DENVER 

1907 


Copyright,   1907 

By  MABEL  PORTER  PITTS 

All  Rights  Reserved 


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STORY  OF  THE 

AND   OTHER  POEMS 


By   MABEL   PORTER   PITTS 

12  Mo.  Cloth  $1.50  net      Postage  12  Cents 

THE  CRITICS  SAY  '*. 


3Franri0rn  (Sail. 

*  *  *  *  *  We,  for  the  nonce,  world-for 
getting,  close  the  door  and  read  on  and  on,  feast 
ing  on  the  lotus  of  this  new  love  poem  by  the 
youthful  California  poet,  Miss  Mabel  Porter 
Pitts.  She  calls  it  "In  the  Shadow  of  the  Crag," 
and  as  it  is  bound  in  a  book  with  a  number  of 
her  beautiful  short  poems  the  title  of  the  volume 
names  the  long  poem  *****.  Read  aloud 
to  yourself  the  beautiful  lines  in  which  Miss 
Mabel  Pitts  tells  of  the  parting.  To  the  eyes  of 
some  of  those  who  are  both  loving  and  sensitive 
they  will  bring  tears  when  read  under  the  full 
spell  of  the  whole  story's  telling.  It  is  a  pity  to 
have  to  isolate  them  here.  *****  The. 


1«8748 


short  poems  of  which  there  are  a  large  number 
in  the  volume,  are  more  perfect  works  of  art  than 
is  the  long  one.  This  is,  perhaps,  solely  because 
the  author  has  practiced  more  at  the  work  of 
creating  short  poems ;  "In  the  Shadow  of  the 
Crag"  is  the  first  long  one  she,  has  attempted — it 
contains  many  beauties  and  is  full  of  promise  of 
fine  future  work  of  which  California  may  have 
reason  to  be  still  prouder  than  of  this  which 
Mabel  Porter  Pitts  sends  forth  from  her  'prentice 
hand.  There  are  so  many  excellent  stanzas 
among  the  short  poems  that  it  is  hard  to  make 
a  choice  of  what  to  quote  to  illustrate  the  merits 
of  the  work  of  this  talented  young  woman. 
*  *  *  *  *  jn  fact  it's  a  volume  of  good 
things,  and  it's  hard  to  quit  talking  about  it. 
*****  YO  realize  all  the  promise  there  is 
in  her  work  we  must  remember  her  youth — she 
is  yet  in  the  wee,  sma'  twenties — and  that  she  has 
been  writing  for  only  two  years.  Her  friends — 
and  California,  may  well  have  radiant  expecta 
tions  of  the  future  development  of  her  talents 
after  this  bright  beginning. 


A  group  of  poems  of  life  and  passion  is  by 
Mabel  Porter  Pitts,  published  in  a  handsome 
volume  which  is  named  for  the  first  and  longest 
poem  in  it — "In  the  Shadow  of  the  Crag."  This 
is  "a  story  of  the  North" — a  veritable  little  novel 
in  verse.  The  theme  is  the  love  of  an  Indian,  a 
haughty  prince  of  the  wilderness,  for  a  lovely 
maiden  of  another  race  whom  he  has  rescued 
from  the  frozen  death  of  the  region.  The  action 


moves  on  musically,  and  the  fancy  of  the  wilder 
ness  returning  to  its  pristine  loneliness  after  the 
invading  maiden  and  her  lover  have  been  slain 
is  poetic  enough.  Among  the  shorter  poems 
which  make  up  two-thirds  of  the  book  are  some 
that  breathe  the  true  poet's  fervor  ***** 
Though  the  verses  are  in  many  meters  they  are 
all  tinged  with  a  little  shadow  of  bitterness. 
Though  love  is  a  god,  his  roses  turn  to  ashes  all 
too  soon ;  though  life  is  desired,  its  wounds  press 
deep ;  and  though  woman  be  fair,  she  sins  and 
suffers  too.  There  is  no  mawkishness  in  all  this — 
only  a  sort  of  wrath  with  the  Things  that  Be. 


'Tn  the  Shadow  of  the  Crag"  *  *  *  *  ^e_ 
serves  more  than  a  passing  notice,  for  Miss  Pitts 
has  come  to  be  known  as  a  writer  of  unusual 
strength.  Long  sustained  poems  may  not  be  the 
fashion  but  this  work  which  is  deftly  woven 
about  an  Alaskan  redskin  and  a  miner's  daughter 
tells  its  story  well  with  many  beautiful  lines. 
*****  But  it  is  to  the  short  poems  we 
turn  nowadays,  and  these  seem  best  to  display 
the  writer's  temperament.  Miss  Pitts'  poems  are 
peculiarly  womanly,  introspective,  self-searching, 
many  given  to  love  in  its  various  phases,  day 
dreams  and  aspirations.  *****  Alto 
gether,  Miss  Pitts'  book  of  verse  is  one  of  the 
most  commendable  issued  in  recent  years. 
******  Her  verse  forms  contain  no  ex 
periments  and  follow  the  lines  that  have  been 
used  by  the  older  school.  Yet  in  these  days  of 
word  painting  and  phrase  making,  of  originality 


1«8748 


that  is  merely  weird,  Miss  Pitts'  honest  verse  is 
like  a  bouquet  of  wild  flowers,  refreshing  and 
potent  with  new  ideas  and  themes.  Miss  Pitts, 
who  has  drawn  considerable  attention  to  herself 
by  her  magazine  work  and  contributions  to  local 
publications,  is  a  native  of  the  blue  grass  region 
of  Kentucky. 


There  are  many  good  lines  in  "In  the  Shadow 
of  the  Crag  and  Other  Poems,"  by  Mabel  Por 
ter  Pitts.  The  title  poem  is  a  tale  of  the  far 
North  told  in  the  measure  of  "Locksley  Hall." 
The  other  poems  cover  a  wide  range.  Those  of 
love  and  sorrow  betray  genuine  feeling  and  re 
veal  no  small  command  of  the  resources  of  vari 
ous  meters.  A  number  of  the  poems  are  devoted 
to  Pacific  Coast  scenes,  the  best  of  which  is  "At 
San  Juan  Capistrano." 


Stettin  (Talk,  &an 

*****  Her  gentle  muse  has  many  ad 
mirers  who  will  be  pleased  to  learn  that  nearly 
all  of  her  poems  that  were  printed  in  Town  Talk 
are  now  between  book  covers.  The  volume  takes 
its  title  from  a  narrative  poem  "In  the  Shadow 
of  the  Crag,"  a  romance  of  the  Yukon.  This  is 
a  poem  of  some  eight  hundred  lines  written  in 
majestic  couplets  that  show  real  power  and  poet 
ical  instinct.  Miss  Pitts  is  clear  and  delicate  in 
the  outlining  of  visible  imagery  ***** 
She  is  unquestionably  a  woman  of  fine  imagina 
tion  and  her  work  is  marked  by  that  intensity 
and  sincerity  of  emotion  without  which  it  is  im- 


possible  to  utter  true  poetry.  In  this  title  poem 
of  her  book  she  reveals  that  subtle  power  of 
realizing  and  conveying  to  the  consciousness  of 
the  reader  abstract  and  elementary  impressions 
*****  There  is  a  good  deal  of  the  vigor 
of  masculinity  in  Miss  Pitts'  work.  It  is  im 
passioned,  the  work  of  a  nature  full  of  sentiment, 
and  much  of  it  is  devoted  to  the  contemplation 
of  the  griefs  of  existence  ;  she  gets  melody  into 
her  lines  and  there  is  always  thought  in  them. 
Her  appeal  is  to  the  feelings  as  much  as  to  the 
ear.  __ 


&att  Jtfrattriam  Nrtua 

Mabel  Porter  Pitts  is  well  known  to  Califor- 
nians  as  well  as  to  others  throughout  the  country 
as  a  clever  and  graceful  writer  of  verses,  both 
grave  and  gay,  which  have  long  entertained  read 
ers  of  the  periodical  press.  She  is  a  bright  San 
Francisco  girl,  and  her  poems  have  won  so  much 
popularity  that  she  has  had  a  collection  of  them 
published  in  book  form  under  the  title  of  "In  the 
Shadow  of  the  Crag  and  Other  Poems."  The 
first  is  a  long  epic.  *  *  *  *  *  It  is  of  a  high 
order  of  merit.  There  are  numerous  others,  from 
sonnets  to  more  pretentious  poems.  Most  of 
them  have  been  previously  published,  and  com 
bined  they  make  an  attractive  collection.  *  *  * 


(Waalj.) 

Mabel  Porter  Pitts'  book  of  poems  is  a  surprise 
and  a  delight  *  *  *  *  The  author  has  the 
beauty  of  expression  only  found  in  poets  and  has 
given  us  in  this  book  a  most  valuable  collection  of 
her  works. 


1K8748 


Miss  Pitts  does  not  come  unknown  with  her 
garland  of  verses.  There  is  much  to  admire  in 
the  many  different  pictures  emanating  from  her 
facile  pen.  She  has  the  gift  of  song.  Her  meas 
ures  ring  their  tuneful  cadence  in  many  themes. 
It  seems  more  than  pitiful  to  read  today  her 
verses  about  places  which  now  are  ablaze,  to  offer 
their  beauties  no  more  to  admiring  eyes.  "In 
Mission  Dolores  Churchyard,"  "On  Laurel  Hill." 
"The  Passing  of  the  Tivoli,"  "The  Golden  Gate," 
and  other  poems  show  the  appreciation  of  Miss 
Pitts  of  that  beautiful  city,  now  blazing  away  a 
sacrifice  to  the  relentless  fates. 


In  offering  the  present  issue  of  this  popular 
author's  poetical  works,  the  publishers  desire  to 
state  that  it  is  in  every  way  superior  to  the  first 
edition  issued  less  than  one  year  ago. 

The  new  book  is  not  only  larger,  but  beautifully 
illustrated  and  handsomely  bound  in  full  gilt. 


KJ8748 


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1«8748 


IN  THE  SHADOW  OF  THE  CRAG 

A  STORY  OF  THE  NORTH 

AND  OTHER  POEMS 


CONTENTS. 


Page 
AWAKENING  (THE)    208 

"A  BIOS"    134 

AN  EPISODE    138 

AN  OLD  LETTER  CASE 209 

APOTHEGMS'  FOR  THE  IDLE 241 

AT  SAN  JUAN  CAPISTRANO 94 

BARRIERS   250 

BESIDE  THE  BIER 150 

BURDEN   (THE)    176 

BENEDICTION    (THE)    128 

BLINDNESS    206 

BRIDGE    (THE)    123 

BE  KIND   110 

BENEDICTION   285 

CHILD  OF  NATURE   (A)    253 

COMPANIONS    211 

CAROL  (A)    189 

CALL  OF  THE   LORELEI   (THE) 283 

CARMEL  290 

DON'T  WORRY   193 

DAY  DREAM  (A) 274 

DREAMS    162 

DREAMER  (THE)    98 

DESECRATION    229 

ELUSIVE  (THE)    267 

EARTH'S  LESSON    87 

EARTH-CALL  (THE)    90 

EARTH-LOVE   273 

FOR    LOVE    OF    THE    BURDEN...  ..  132 


CONTENTS. 


Page 

FINIS   245 

FALLACIES     26° 

FEALTY    


287 

GRANDEST  THING  (THE) 200 

GOLDEN  GATE  (THE) 234 

GALLEY    SLAVE    (THE) 249 

GREATER    VICTORY    (THE) 92 


GROPING     

"GIVE!    GIVE!" 


248 
170 


GHOST   CITY   (THE) 281 

HIS'  ANSWER   233 

HERE,   AND   THERE 262 

HOPE     139 

IN  MEDITATION   105 

IN   RETROSPECTION    192 

IF  YOU  HAD  KNOWN 175 

I  THANK  THEE 213 

IN  LOTUS  LAND 153 

INEVITABLE    (THE)    226 

IN  MISSION  DOLORES  CHURCHYARD 236 

IN  THE   SHADY  PLACES 255 

IN  THE  SHADOW  OF  THE  CRAG 1 

JOHN    BRADFORD'S     PRAYER 178 

LOVE'S  ENEMY    169 

LOVE'S  VICTORY   188 

LOVE'S   LAMENT    120 

LIFE   244 

LOVE'S  RECOMPENSE    185 

LOVE'S  SPAN   149 

LIFE'S    MIRAGE    254 

LOVERS"    TRYST    (THE) 112 

LOVE'S  ABERRATION    247 


CONTENTS. 


Page 
LOVE'S    REIGN 218 

LOVE-PLAINT  (THE)    93 

LIFE  OF  YESTERDAY   (THE) 215 

LEST  WE  GROW  TOO  CONTENT 258 

LOVE'S  FALLACIES    180 

MAN'S  LOVE    122 

MEDICI'S  NEW  YEAR  (THE) 119 

MISER'S    SONG    (THE) 243 

MY    PLEA    181 

MAN  AND  WOMAN  OF  IT  (THE) 238 

MAN'S  HERITAGE   124 

NEW   YEAR   BELL    (THE) 217 

NEGLECTED   LUTE   (THE) 288 

ON  THE  LITTLE  SANDY 173 

ON    LAUREL    HILL 121 

OF  THE  NANCY  PRYNE 204 

ON  THE  TAMALPAIS  SLOPE 231 

PAST   (THE)    157 

PHANTOM    (THE)    137 

PICTURE    (A)     182 

PRAYER    (THE)    202 

PUNISHMENT   (THE)    201 

PESSIMIST    (THE)    195 

PASSING  OF  THE  TIVOLI  (THE; 129 

PENALTY   (THE)    118 

POLE-SEEKERS    (THE) 220 

PARADOX  (A)    167 

"POETIC  CHOIR"   (THE) 257 

POPPY   (THE)    146 

QUATRAINS    276 

RETROSPECTUS    163 

ROSE    (THE)     .  ..144 


CONTENTS. 


Page 

RECOMPENSE    166 

ROAD  OF  A  GREAT  DESIRE  (THE) 184 

ROSE  OF  MONTEREY  (THE) 151 

REGENERATION     261 

SATIETY    106 

SATAN'S    TOAST    127 

•  STAR  (THE)    224 

SIREN    (THE)    141 

SPANISH  SERENADE    (A)    168 

SUICIDE  (THE)    135 

SPECTATOR  (A)    265 

TO  MANUELA     214 

TO  MY  PIPE    143 

TO-DAY'S  ROYALIST    196 

TO  JESSICA     154 

TO  TOMBSTONE    II 160 

THEN  AS  NOW 88 

TO  THE   OLD  YEAR 251 

TO  ETHEL    227 

TO  MY  BOOKS 186 

TO  YOU    286 

TO  MY  MOTHER    279 

UNCERTAINTY   259 

VOICE   OF  SILENCE   (THE) 125 

VOYAGERS   (THE)    191 

VOICE  OF  NATURE  (THE) 158 

WANTON  (THE)    99 

WHICH  DOES  NOT  MATTER  TO  YOU 155 

WITH  LOVE  AT  YOUR  SIDE 269 

WOMAN'S  CONSTANCY   (A) 101 

WHEN  LOVE   BETRAYS , 96 

WOMAN'S  DESTINY    .  270 


CONTENTS. 


Page 

WHEN  CHRIST  IS  RISEN 223 

WHERE  ALL  IS  VANITY 263 

WILL  YOU   RECALL   ME? 239 

WHO  PAYS?   164 

WITH  YOU  TO  SHOW  THE  WAY 292 

WHAT   KING? 145 

WATER   SPRITE    (THE) 103 

WHEN  PASSES  THE  FLAME 172 

WITH  NATURE 219 

WOMAN    198 

YESTERDAY   (A)    109 

YOU  WHO   LOVE   ME...                                                      ..  272 


'Mile  on  mile  is  tjuickly  ci.rcrcd  <>i;er  xlrctchcs  bleak  and  Itare- 
Tlnis  she  finds  Hie  panacea   Unit  can  cape  against  despair." 


IN  THE  SHADOW  OF  THE  CRAG. 


I. 


In  a  village  in  the  Northland  where  the  end 
less  wreaths  of  snow 

Smooth  the  ice-blocks'  rugged  edges  choking 
fast  the  Yukon's  flow, 


Where  the  frost  in  form  fantastic  traces  vines 

and  flow'rs  and  leaves 
On  the  dwellings'   low-browed  windows   half 

concealed  beneath  the  eaves, 

Traces   roses    pale   as   ashes,    roses   cold   and 

dead  and  gray 
As  the  blossoms  of  a  passion  that  the  heart 

knew  yesterday, 


IN   THE  SHADOW  OF  THE   CRAG. 


Lived  a  woman  blest  with  beauty  fair  as  blush 
of  summer's  dawn, 

Eyes  akin  to  English  bluebells  that  the  dew- 
drops  tremble  on, 

Hair  as  tawny  as  the  rush-grass  limp  beneath 

the  sun's  embrace, 
And  each  changing,  new  emotion  adding  glory 

to  her  face. 

Here  she  lived,  her  hopes,  ambitions  all  but 

turned  to  sounding  brass 
By   the  mock'ry  of  chimeras  darkly   shading 

fortune's  glass 

In  the  days  of  earnest  seeking,  when  the  thing 

desired  but  seemed, 
And  with  stubborn  will  to  follow  where  the 

light  of  metal  gleamed. 

Hope   will    live   within    the    bosom    while  the 

light  of  life  endures, 
Men  will   follow  blind,  and  eager,  where  the 

ignis  fatuus  lures, 


IN   THE  SHADOW  OF  THE   CRAG. 


And  the  suff  rings  of  such  marches,  and  the 

woes  of  such  stampedes, 
And  the  pictures  full  with  pathos  where  the 

soul  of  pity  feeds, 

And  heroic  acts  of  mercy,  not  forgot  though 

left  untold, 
Prove  man's   reason,  only,   bartered,   that   his 

heart  is  still  unsold. 

There  is  that  within  our  being,  give  it  name 

the  one  who  can, 
Shining  God-like  in  man's  pity  and  humanity 

to  man, 

And  the  primal  good,   forgotten  through  the 

drift  of   human  will, 
Stirs    the    soul,    however    crippled,    to    some 

memory  of  it  still. 

Rumor  comes  on  north  wind  blowing,  vague, 

and  wild,  as  rumor  can, 
Of  a  storied  El  Dorado  rich  beyond  the  ken 

of  man. 


IN   THE  SHADOW  OF  TH£   CRAG. 


Like  a  fever  comes  the  rumor,  sweeping  bare 
the  little  town, 

Leaving  naught  but  empty  cabins,  cold,  be 
neath  the  winter's  frown; 

Cabins  looming  dark  and  cheerless,  with  their 

windows  blank  and  dead 
As    the    sightless    eyes    of   mortals    when    the 

spark  of  life  is  fled; 

Doors,  left  half  ajar,  are  filling  with  the  drift 
of  falling  snow, 

Bleak  as  though  by  man  deserted  half  a  cen 
tury  ago. 


IN   THE  SHADOW   OF  THE   CRAG. 


II. 


Ah,    the    white-storm,    velvet-footed,    ah,    the 

treacherous,  the  cold, 
Creeping,  creeping  to  the  bosom,  there  with 

taloned  clutch  to  hold, 

Tricking  with  its  soft  embraces,  kissing  with 

its  fateful  breath, 
Loosing  not   its   fascination  till  the  heart  lie 

hushed  in  death; 

Ah,    the   white-storm,    ah,    the   cruel,    settling 

close  on  brook  and  mound, 
Smoothing  out  the  hollow  places  on  the  high, 

uneven  ground, 

Masking  hill  and  lake  and  river  in  its  clinging 

cloak  of  white, 
And    in    sullen    anger    sweeping   through    the 

weirdness   of  the  night! 


IN   THE  SHADOW  OF  THE   CRAG. 


On  an  upward  pathway  wending,  toiling  pain 
fully,  and  slow, 

Moving  in  uncertain  fashion  through  the 
trackless  waste  of  snow, 

Are  a  helpless  man  and  woman,  fighting  hard 

for  life  and  breath, 
All  dismayed,  for  in  the  ice-wreaths  they  have 

seen  the  Silent  Death; 


They  have  seen  his  haggard  features,  they 
have  watched  his  measured  stride, 

And  they  know  that  he  is  with  them,  walking 
silent  at  their  side; 

If  they  falter,  lo,  they  perish;  if  they  pause, 

he  claims  his  own, 
And   they   pray   for   help   to   heaven,    for   the 

world  is  turned  to  stone. 

Where  is  now  the  wish  for  riches,  where  the 

hope  in  earthly  things, 
Where  the  music  in  the  siren  song  the  golden 

guinea  sings? 


IN   THE  SHADOW  OF  THE   CRAG. 

Lo,  ambition's  fleeting  vision  mocks  the  slowly 

glazing  eye 
And  the  world  is  sodden  ashes  when  a  man  is 

marked  to  die. 


O'er   the   leaden    sky    comes    flashing   slender 

spires  of  ghostly  light 
Showing  where  the  white-storm's  forces  seek 

a  bivouac  for  the  night, 


Showing  outposts  wheel  and  vanish  with 
their  conquering  banners  furled 

As  if  touched  with  sudden  pity  for  a  tortured, 
helpless  world. 


Through  the  void   come  sounds  of   weeping, 

incoherent  words,  and  wild, 
And  the   father  presses  roughly  to   his  heart 

his  weeping  child; 

"O,     my    daughter,     well-beloved !       O,     my 

daughter,  mine  bereft ! 

"Angels  guard  thee,  for  in  chaos  thou  hast  no 
protector  left. 


IN   THE  SHADOW  OF  THE   CRAG. 


"Rest  thy  head  upon  my  bosom,  let  me  feel 
thy  hand  in  mine — 

"Daughter,  seest  thou  the  splendor  of  a  dis 
tant  city  shine? 

"Heard'st  thou  not  that  sweet  voice  utter 
words  which  thrill  my  weary  breast, 

"  'Come  to  me,  thy  work  is  ended,  come  .to 
me,  for  I  am  rest'  ? 

"Fare  thee  well,  my  dear  beloved,  o'er  rough 

seas  we  long  have  sailed, 
"I    have  tried   to   make   safe   harbor,    I   have 

tried,  and  I  have  failed. 

"Though  the  night  of  death  divide  us,  lost 
the  way  that  we  have  trod, 

"Still  I  know  that  'dawn  will  find  us  some 
where  'neath  the  smile  of  God/  ' 

O,   the   Northland,   callous   hearted,   vast   and 

cold  and  bleak  and  bare, 
How  may  prayers  reach  out  to  heaven  from 

such  desert  of  despair? 


IN   THE  SHADOW  OF  THE   CRAG. 


Comes   the  voice  that   slowly   failing  begs   in 

accents  faint  and  low, 
"Sing  the  song  we  love,  my  daughter,  sing  it 

once  before  I  go; 

"Sing,  'twill  help  my  trembling  spirit  find  the 
Light  that  marks  the  goal — " 

Then  from  out  the  dark  comes  floating,  "Jesus, 
lover  of  my  soul/' 

And  the  night-bird   stops  to  listen — "Let  me 

to  Thy  bosom  fly," 
Breath    of    north    wind,    strangely    tempered, 

sighs  o'er  him  about  to  die, 

And  the  song  to  frenzied  cry  turns  when  his 

struggling  soul  has  passed, 
"Father,  to  Thy  haven  guide  him,  O,  receive 

him  Thine,  at  last." 

And   the   night   is   spent   and   weary,   and   the 

dawn  is  near  at  hand, 
And  a  soul  has  left  the  lesson  it  could  never 

understand, 


IN   THE  SHADOW   OF  THE  CRAG. 


But  perhaps  the  tangled  problem  will  one  day 

be  clearer  shown 
When  the  man  shall  stand  unhampered  in  the 

elorv  of  the  throne. 


IN   THE  SHADOW   OF  THE  CRAG. 


III. 


Through  the  hoar   frost  crimson  pennons  of 

the  dawn  begin  to  show 
And    the    crystal    ice-spars    glisten    with    an 

iridescent  glow. 

In  far  distant  lands,  and  kinder,  when  the  day 

begins  to  dawn, 
Comes  a  chirrup  from  the  tree  tops  and  an 

answer  from  the  lawn, 

From  some  neighboring  branch's  shelter  goes 

a  flutter  and  a  cry 
And   the   matin    song   of   Nature    sweeps   the 

gold-empurpled  sky, 

All  is  motion,  all  is  gladness,  happy  in  return 
ing  light, 

Not  the  dead,  oppressive  stillness  of  this 
gleaming  waste  of  white, 


11 


IN   THE  SHADOW   OF  THE  CRAG. 


Not    this   silence,    hushed   and   lifeless   as  the 

shadowed  face  of  Fate, 
Brooding  ever  on  the  secret  locked  within  its 

ice-bound  gate; 
i 

Here,  no  hills  that  call  to  meadows  where  cool, 

babbling  rivers  run, 
Here,    no    joyous   cry    of   greeting    from    the 

children  of  the  sun. 

Yet  the  horizon,  dull  tinted,  shows  faint  mo 
tion  in  the  east, 

Signs  of  life  that  make  the  wildness  seem  in 
loneliness  increased, 

Clear,   and  clearer,   shows  the   outline   'gainst 

the  stretch  of  yellow  sky 
And  the  startled  air  rolls  pulsing  underneath 

the  hunter's  cry. 

Tokohoma,     lithe     and     supple,     Tokohoma, 

strong  and  brave, 
Lord  of  all  these  sullen   acres,   lord  of  land, 

of  air,  of  wave, 


12 


IN   THE  SHADOW   OF  THE  CRAG. 


Lord,  by   right  of   full  possession,   where  no 

stranger  forms  intrude, 
He,  a  chieftain,  undisputed,  reigns  o'er  realms 

of  solitude. 


And   he   comes    on    fleet    foot    speeding    over 

white,  uncharted  tracts, 
Storming,    fearlessly,    the    ice-blocks    in    the 

frozen  cataracts, 

Spurning  drift  on  drift  that,  gleaming  like 
great  milestones  bleak  and  cold, 

Mark  the  path  of  this  new  Hermes  swift  of 
foot  as  he  of  old. 


Now  he  pauses,  stoops,  and,  seeming,  ques 
tions  something  that  is  dumb, 

Then  darts  back  like  winged  arrow,  back  on 
way  so  lately  come, 

And   the    startled   white   grouse   question   the 

astonished  face  of  dawn, 
"Where  his  course?"  and,  "What  his  mission?" 

Ere  the  answer,  he  is  gone. 


IN   THE  SHADOW   OF  THE  CRAG. 


Gone,  with  doubt  each  hope  defying,  gone, 
with  pain  of  anxious  breath, 

Gone,  on  wings  of  fear  fast  flying,  racing 
with  the  phantom  death; 

Muscles  tense,  and  nostrils  swelling,  back,  still 

back,  each  white  drift  rolls, 
Tokohoma    pressing   closer    to    his    heart    the 

thing  he  holds. 

North,  still  north,  till  on  his  vision,  lo,  there 

falls  a  welcome  sight, 
Rounded  mound  of  snow-house  glist'ning  in 

its  new  found  dome  of  white, 

Then,  quick  passes  through  its  portal  to  the 

haven  of  his  quest, 
Worn  and  wan,  this  Hermes,  clasping  still  his 

burden  to  his  breast; 

Burden  strangely  limp  and  lifeless,  burden  fail- 
as  shines  the  sun. 

Burden  for  which  Tokohoma  neck  to  neck 
with  death  has  run. 


14 


IN   THE  SHADOW   OF  THE  CRAG. 


But  the  stretch  is  still  uncovered,  still  un 
certain  lies  the  goal — 

Down  upon  his  knees  he  drops,  then,  in  his 
agony  of  soul, 

With  his  mind  in  dread  commotion  and   his 

heart  in  frenzied  storm 
While  he  tears  the  fur-lined  wrappings  from 

the  unresisting  form; 

First,    his    own    skin    coat    of    sable    he    had 

wrapped  about  her  there 
When  he  found  her  by  her  father,  lost,  within 

the  storm-god's  lair, 

Then  complexities  of  garments   that  he  does 

not  understand, 
Frail    and    feminine,    that    perish    underneath 

his  unskilled  hand, 

And  the  white  arm  lies  before  him  in  its  still 
ness  of  repose, 

And  the  tender  throat  as  pulseless  as  is  beauty 
in  the  snows. 


15 


IN   THE  SHADOW   OF  THE  CRAG. 


How  he  chafes  her  arms,  her  body,  with  no 

moment's  pause  for  rest, 
How  he  turns  his  timid  glances  from  the  glory 

of  her  breast, 

How  all  hopes  goes  out  and  darkness  of  de 
spair  creeps  in  its  place 

As  he,  breathless,  seeks  some  evidence  of  life 
within  her  face, 

How  he  labors  long  and  tireless  till  the  thing 

he  prays  is  done, 
Let  the  melting  snow-drift  tell  you  as  it  fades 

beneath  the  sun. 


Swift  a  tide  of  feeling  sweeps  him  when  slight 

sign  of  life  returns, 
Giving    place    to    new    emotions    where    deep 

earnestness  still  burns, 

And   his   trembling   hand   slow    falters   where 

so  firm  has  been  his  touch 
Now  that  death  is  partly  vanquished  and  the 

foe  has  eased  its  clutch. 


10 


IN   THE  SHADOW  OF  THE  CRAG. 


With    the   tenderness     of     woman     he     quick 

clothes  the  waking  form, 
Lays  it  gently  on  heaped  wolfskin,   fox,  and 

brown  seal,  soft  and  warm, 

Then  withdraws  a  little  distance  resting  pen 
sive  in  his  place, 

Looking  with  a  deep  emotion  on  the  beauty 
of  her  face; 

Through   his   brain   whirl   dreams,   traditions, 

glints  of  fragmentary  lore, 
Foolish  fancies  of  his  people  scarcely  credited 

before, 

But  of  Fate  none  dares  to  question,  and  the 

thing  will  be  she  wills, 
And  a  feeling  strange  and  sacred  Tokohoma's 

being  thrills. 

"Have  you  come?"  he  softly  murmurs,  "Has 
the  promise,  then,  been  kept? 

"O,  my  queen,  you  near  did  perish,  death  so 
close  to  you  had  crept, 


17 


IN   THE  SHADOW   OF  THE  CRAG. 


"I   near  lost  you  ere  I   found  you,    such  the 

limit  of  man's  pow'r, 
"Destiny  he  knows  awaits  him  yet  he  cannot 

name  the  hour. 

"Have  you  come?  Some  import  tells  me  the 
prophetic  word  was  true, 

"And  my  soul  to  doubting  question  ever  an 
swers,  'It  is  you.' 

"It  is  you,  of  whose  vague  coming     council 

graybeards  ofttimes  spoke, 
"It  is  you,  whose  sacred  mission  was  to  lift 

my  people's  yoke, 


"It  is  you,  your  way  swung  hither,  as  on  orbit 

swings  the  star, 
"Queen  for  me,  and  for  my  people,  scattered, 

lost  and  strayed  afar; 

"All  are  gone,  the  winds  of  heaven  from  the 
four  points  breathe  their  name, 

"None  is  warrior,  now,  nor  hunter,  unmo 
lested  feed  the  game; 


IN   THE  SHADOW   OF  THE  CRAG. 


"They  have  sunk  to  trade,  to  barter,  nor  resent 

the  white  man's  jibe, 
"And  their  chief,  ashamed,  self-exiled,  stands 

a  chief  without  a  tribe. 

"You   are   come,   your  course   appointed   you 

are  helpless  in  your  fate, 
"You    should    be    a  queen    of    nations    not    a 

tribeless  chieftain's  mate, 

"You  should  look  on  deeds  of  valor  and  praise 
victories  well  won, 

"And  review  your  fearless  warriors  number 
less  beneath  the  sun — 

"Yet  you  may  not.     It  is  written  you  are  mine 

to  have,  to  hold, 
"You  will  love  me — so  the  graybeards  spake 

in  prophecy  of  old." 

Life  returns,  and  comes  prophetic,  as  it 
should,  through  troubled  moan, 

And  the  face  of  Tokohoma  like  another  face 
has  grown  ; 


19 


IN   THE  SHADOW   OF  THE  CRAG. 


All  emotions  quickly  conquered  now  in  depth 

of  shadow  rest, 
In  his  look  no  trace  of  tumult  that  so  lately 

swept  his  breast 

For  the  bird  must  not  be  'frighted  though  to 

flame  his  heart  be  fanned, 
Not  until  she  comes  to  love  him  can  he  make 

her  understand. 

Doubt  that  she  will  love  him  henceforth  will 

be  foreign  to  his  mind, 
He  has  questioned,  and  decided,  question  now 

is  left  behind 

And  his  heart,   untamed  and   simple,   wakens 

to  one  sole  desire 
And   in   crucible   of   beauty,    lo,   is   left   there 

molten  fire. 

Calm  he  stands,  the  strength  of  manhood 
marked  in  wild,  unstudied  grace 

And  his  dark  eyes  showing  blacker  'gainst  the 
fairness  of  his  face. 


IN   THE  SHADOW   OF  THE  CRAG. 


IV. 


There  are  times  when  breath  is  bitter;  there 

are  times  when  life  is  dust; 
There   are  times   the  tortured  soul   cries   out 

against  the  body's  rust; 

There  are  times  when  adverse  waters   sweep 

life's  ship  with  fateful  roar, 
When  oblivion  were  better  than  to  strand  upon 

the  shore. 

She  who  lies  there  scarce   accredits  that  the 

fires  of  life  still  burn, 
Thoughts,  in  slow  and  halting  fashion,  back 

o'er   snow-framed  pictures   turn, 

And  vague  mem'ry  dawning  clearer  to  a  better 

sense  of  grief 
Wakes  to  find  but  keener  anguish  in  its  efforts 

for  relief. 


21 


IN   THE  SHADOW   OF  THE  CRAG. 


Tokohoma  waits  the  turning  of  the  quickening 

pulses'  flow, 
Sees  the  lips'  and  cheeks'  gray  pallor  to  faint 

shade  of  crimson  grow, 

Watches   dark-fringed  eyelids   quiver  as  they 

feel  the  life-tide  rise 
And,    at   last,    his    soul    meets,    melting,    that 

strange  glory  of  her  eyes. 

Kindness,  nature's  common  language,   speaks 

when  helpless  lips  are  dumb, 
Through  it  babe  and  painted  savage  to  sweet 

understanding  come. 

Through  it  all  the  blighting  stigma  of  a  life 

may  be  enfurled, 
Through  it  once  a  man  was  given  to  arouse  a 

sleeping  world. 

She  divines  this  simple  kindness  that  within 

his  glances  rest 
And   a   storm   of   bitter   weeping'   sweeps   the 

tumult  of  her  breast. 


22 


IN  THE  SHADOW   OF  THE  CRAG. 


Naught  she  asks  of  how  she  came  here, 
naught  of  question  dimly  lights 

Mind  distraught  that,  heavy  burdened,  takes 
as  yet  but  halting  flights, 

'Tis    enough    a    fellow    creature    sympathizes 

with  despair, 
Anguish  questions  not  of  glances  that  the  look 

of  pity  wear; 

Out  to  him  her  arms  she  holds  then  in  impas 
sioned  way  and  wild 

And  he  soothes  her  bitter  moaning  as  a  father 
soothes  his  child. 


Long  she  sobs  till  founts  of  anguish  hold  no 

more  of  tears  to  weep, 
Till  exhaustion,  mastering  sorrow,  yields  it  up 

to  troubled  sleep. 

And   she  wakes   to   days   of   fever,   wakes   to 

nights  of  bitter  pain, 
Only  Tokohoma  conscious   of  how   long   she 

thus  has  lain, 


23 


IN    THE   SHADOW    OF  THE  CRAG. 


Only  Tokohoma  knowing  how   was  watched 

each  fitful  breath, 
How    was    fought    a    second    battle    with   the 

dreaded  wraith  of  death, 

How  a  second  time  he,  victor,  hid  the  joy  of 

what  he  felt, 
And  the  great  white  silence,  only,  heard,  "I 

thank  Thee,"  as  lie  knelt. 


2-1 


IN   THE  SHADOW   OF  THE  CRAG. 


V. 


As  beneath  its  woe  of  winter  cold  and  sombre 

lies  the  earth, 
As  the  naked  shrubs,  like  mortals,  moan  their 

doubt  of  life's  rebirth, 

As     the    rivers    shroud    their    faces    in    their 

mourning  cloaks  of  snow 
So  do    human    hearts,    dull-burdened,    'neath 

grief's  winter,  sunless  grow. 

Tokohoma  tries  to  lighten  in  these  convales 
cent  days 

That  faint  smile,  more  sad  than  weeping,  that 
upon  her  pale  lip  plays; 

Not  unmoved  by  kind  endeavor,  though  from 

grief  no  nearer  wooed, 
She,   to  please   him,   smiles   a  little,   such   the 

sense  of  gratitude. 


25 


IN   THE  SHADOW   OF  T-HE  CRAG. 


After  tempest  comes  the  sunshine,  after  winter 

comes  the  spring, 
Not  forever  shall  the  mourning  cry  through 

sorrow's  cavern  ring; 

Tokohoma  sees  the  roses  on  pale  cheeks  begin 

to  glow, 
Sees  faint  hope,   again  transcendent,  o'er  the 

darkness  radiance  throw. 

In   these  days  he   searches  mem'ry   for   stray 

threads  of  useful  art, 
In  these  days  the  thing  projected  holds  some 

impress  of  his  heart, 

In  these  days  the  deerskin  wrapping,  thong  of 

hide,  and  belt  of  fur 
Take  strange  tints  of  unguessed  beauty,  since 

he  fashions  them  for  her. 

By  her  couch  he  sits  whole  evenings,  resting 

pensive  hand  on  cheek, 
Joyous  if  she  give  commission,  happy  if  she 

will  but  speak; 


IN   THE  SHADOW   OF  THE  CRAG. 


Unreservedly    she   tells    him    of   the    vagrant 

hopes  that  start, 
Of  desires  long  since  relinquished  that  were 

wont  to  fret  her  heart. 

Thus   he  has   small   need   to  question   of   the 

things  that  he  would  learn, 
Thus  her  heart  an  open  book  is,  and  its  leaves 

in  sequence  turn 

While  he  reads  the  broken  story  of  a  life  still 

young  in  years 
But  deep    bowed    with    age    when    looked    at 

through  its  mist  of  blurring  tears. 

These,   the  lines  that   touch   her   deepest,   are 

the  ones  most  often  read 
Though  the  plans  that  lie  transcribed  there  are 

reviewed  as  projects  dead; 

As  the  moth  with  hurt  wing  flutters  round  the 

candle's  dying  beams, 
So  does  man  forever  hover  near  the  wreckage 

of  his  dreams. 


27 


IN   THE  SHADOW   OF  THE  CRAG. 


In  the  trend  of  daily  converse  froth  thoughts 

float  like  ocean  foam, 
And  from  beat  of  inward  tumult  rises  oft  the 

word  of  "Home." 

Home,  that  place  of  peace,  of  comfort,  where 

the  weary  heart  can  rest, 
Home,  that  word  which  strikes  vibrating  on 

the  gnarld  strings  of  the  breast ! 

Tokohoma    vaguely   gathers    from    her,    now, 

repose  of  mind, 
That   this   cherished   dream,    like   others,    has 

been  sadly  left  behind, 

And  a  surging  thought  sweeps  o'er  him,  as 
o'er  pine-tops  sweeps  the  blast, 

Leaving  him  unsteady,  swaying,  when  the 
fevered  thrill  has  past, 

Leaving  him  in  deep  emotion  that  is  near  akin 

to  prayer 
And  his   brow   full-flushed   in  beauty   by  the 

thought  it  shelters  there. 


IN   THE  SHADOW   OF  THE  CRAG. 


When  her  strength  is  well  recovered  then  he 
leaves  her  for  a  space, 

To  return  each  night  with  myst'ry  overspread 
ing  all  his  face. 

To  her  questions  of  his  absence  he  gives  pre 
text  ever  new 

And  close  guards  each  word  lest  inkling  of 
his  secret  filter  through. 

Dawning  suns  see  busy  fingers  shaping  crude 

things  into  form, 
Flurried    snow-flakes    pause    to    question    ere 

they  merge  within  the  storm, 

Help  of  hope  in  light  transcendent   seems  to 

shine  from  gift  above, 
All  of  toil  is  zephyr  lightness  when  the  task 

is  that  of  love; 

And    the    day    stands   golden    lettered    in    the 

shifting  sands  that  run 
When,     triumphant,     Tokohoma     views     his 

heart's  great  labor  done. 


29 


IN   THE  SHADOW   OF  THE  CRAG. 


O,   the  joy  that  sweeps  the  Northland,  close 

to  anguish  deep  allied, 
On  that  clay  when  Tokohoma  finds  the  frail 

one  at  his  side 

Out  among  his  bleak  possessions,  ringed  afar 

by  gleaming  heights, 
Out   beneath   the   changing   weirdness   of   the 

restless  northern  lights; 

Through  the  dusk  of  noonday  glitter  discs 
of  silver,  touched  with  gold, 

Where  the  sun-dogs  pierce  the  hoar  frost 
hanging  sinister  and  cold; 

Naught  so  poignant  or  impressive  here,  where 

sovereign  forces  meet, 
As   the   sense   of   desolation   that   is   crushing 

and  complete. 

Soon,  when  nearer  things  are  noticed,  she  a 

tiny  cabin  sees, 
Outlined  yonder  near  the  snow-house  'gainst 

a  ground  of  distant  trees ; 


IN   THE  SHADOW   OF   THE  CRAG. 


There  her  instinct  quickly  answers  questions 
she  has  long  repressed 

And  a  strange  emotion  flutters,  like  a  weak 
ness,  in  her  breast. 

Tokohoma,  watching  mutely,  tries  her  pur 
pose  to  divine, 

Ere  she  turns  and  utters  simply,  "Let  us 
enter.  It  is  mine." 

Quietly    she   takes    possession,    quietly    essays 

to  speak, 
Burning  rose  and  pallid  lily  alternating  in  her 

cheek, 

And    as    scattered   sea-drift    whispers   of   that 

wealth  the   wave  conceals, 
So  her  kindly  smile  is  index  to  the  gratitude 

she  feels. 

In  no  time  of  their  abiding,  strange,  and  in 
timate,  and  fleet, 

Has  the  pulse  of  Tokohoma  in  such  wanton 
fashion  beat; 


IN   THE  SHADOW   OF   THE  CRAG. 


She,  unconscious  of  his  weakness,  seeks  new 

wonders  to  extol, 
While   he   trembles   lest   his   secret   burst   the 

bond  of  stern  control. 

When  the  dearth  of  simple  objects  leaves  no 

more  to  be  admired, 
Down    she   sinks   on   rug   of    wolfskin    like   a 

child  with  laughter  tired, 

Noting,  still,  her  strange  possessions,  prais 
ing,  still,  with  ling' ring  glance, 

Searching  close  lest  any  treasure  has  been 
overlooked  by  chance, 

And   when  all   but  well   decided   as   her   eyes 

sweep  walls  and  floor, 
Yonder  sees  some  shining  object  she  had  let 

escape  before. 

Quickly   come   to   where   it   glistens,    wide   of 

eye  and  hushed  of  breath, 
O'er     her     rounded     cheek     swift     sweeping 

spreads  a  pallor  gray  as  death. 


32 


IN   THE  SHADOW  OF   THE  CRAG. 


From  its  place  she  lifts  a  necklace,  crude  of 

workmanship  and  plan, 
Nuggets,  linked  in  simple  fashion,  large  and 

small,  a  circlet  span, 

And  her  hesitating  fingers  o'er  each  rough 
ened  surface  play 

While  she  questions  Tokohoma  in  repressed 
and  rapid  way : 

How  he  came  by  their  possession?  What 
their  story?  Where  their  source? 

Looking  back  her  way  seems  swung  here 
by  some  strange  and  occult  force. 

She,   like   every  artless   dreamer,   hopeful   for 

the  thing  long  planned, 
Sees  a  fate  in  each  occurrence  that  she  fails 

to  understand; 

And  she  waits  for  confirmation  of  the  thing 
already  guessed, 

But  his  answer  breathes  evasion,  clearly  leav 
ing  much  suppressed; 


IN   THE  SHADOW   OF   THE  CRAG. 


And  he  begs  that  she  will  tell  him  what  the 

power  is,  ere  he  speaks, 
That  so   swift   has  changed  the  color  of  the 

damask  of  her  cheeks; 

What  the  force  is  that  for  ages  has  not  loosed 

its  mystic  hold 
On  the  heart  that  in  the  white  man,  lusts  to 

clasp  the  yellow  gold. 

And  she  answers,  speaking  softly  in  her 
earnestness  of  tone, 

Every  word  imbued  with  color  from  the  sor 
rows  she  has  known : 

"Gold  is  talisman  for  evil,  gold  is  happiness, 

is  rest, 
"Gold  is  balm  for  every   sorrow  that  assails 

the  human  breast, 

"Gold  is  guide  for  them  that  struggle  in  the 

sea  of  daily  strife, 
"Gold  is  counselor,  magician,  gold  is  beauty, 

gold  is  life; 


IN   THE  SHADOW  OF   THE  CRAG. 


"Gold  is  synonym  for  honor,  it  is  glory,  it  is 
fame, 

"Gold's  a  crutch  for  social  cripples  with  ob 
scurity  of  name, 

"Gold    a    trickster    is,    its    palmings    e'en    the 

skeptical  convince, 
"For  its  lack  proclaims  the  peon,  its  abundance 

names  the  prince. 

"By  it  race,  and  caste,  and  teachings  all  are 

leveled  in  a  breath; 
"It  makes  equal  slave  and  master  as  effectually 

as  death, 

"And  so  full  it  taints  and  tinges  all  that  fancy 

may  behold 
"That  its  power  scales  even  heaven  to  bespeak 

the  streets  of  gold; 

"In  the  sky  the  moon   hangs  golden,   golden 

shines  the  sun  above, 
"Gold  is  head,  and  heart,  and  feeling,  gold  is 

friendship,  gold  is  love." 


IN   THE  SHADOW  OF   THE  CRAG. 


Seeing  then   that  Tokohoma   deeply   on   each 

word  attends, 
She,   in  tone  half  grave,   half  jesting,   that  a 

lighter  humor  lends, 

Adds,  'These  Midas  gifts,  as  fleeting  as  the 

breath  that  scents  the  rose, 
Are  for  thee,  too,  could  men  name  thee  Prince 

of  Gold,  thou  Prince  of  Snows." 


IN   THE  SHADOW  OF  THE  CRAG. 


VI. 


Like  a  great  white  sphinx  the  Northland  lies 

implacable  and  dread; 
Dull   and   gray   the   arch   of    heaven    frowns, 

low-bending*,  overhead ; 

Sullen  snow-fields,  void  of  luster,  rest  be 
neath  a  pulseless  sky, 

Stretch  on  stretch  of  space  spreads  empty, 
undisturbed  by  call  or  cry; 

Silence    wraps    the    lake    and    river,    silence 

shrouds  the  copse  and  hill, 
Sound  is  'frighted  by  the  silence  and  remains 

forever  still; 

What  of  life  is  here  speeds  noiseless,  appre 
hensive,  and  afraid, 

Ever  fearful  of  some  horror  unaccountably 
delayed. 


37 


IN   THE  SHADOW   OF   THE  CRAG. 


Here   is   heard   no   soothing   rustle    from   the 

leaves  of  swaying  trees, 
Here    is    seen    no    dancing    ripples    spraying 

shores  of  inland  seas, 

Here    the    mocking    northlight    flashes    in    a 

jagged  arc  of  red, 
Here  the  earth   lies  wan   and  ghastly,   to  its 

soul  benumbed  and  dead; 


Here    the    phantom    dusk    slow    merges    into 

weird,  fantastic  night, 
And  a  mighty  hush  low  crouches  on  eternal 

beds  of  white. 

In    the   west    rise   towering  mountains,   by    a 

river  interlaced, 
Whose   approach    is   dragon  guarded,    tier    on 

tier,  by  glistening  waste; 

Rugged    boulders,    javelin-pointed,     rise     dis- 

puters  of  the  way, 
Black  abysses   spread  their  pitfalls   to  entrap 

unwary  prey ; 


IN    THE  SHADOW   OF   THE  CRAG. 


Precipices      roughly      threaten      where      had 

seemed  an  open  path, 
Yawning  chasms  breathe  the  story   of   some 

deep,   insatiate   wrath, 

Noxious   gases,    slowly  lifting,   merge   within 

the  ruling  frost, 
Deeply    sprung    from    such    weird    darkness 

that  their  origin  is  lost. 

On  one  towering  peak,  that  rises  more  for 
bidding  than  the  rest, 

Is  a  giant  crag  hung  midway,  sheer  and  dread, 
'twixt  base  and  crest; 

Far  above  it  walls  of  granite  shimmer  to  a 

giddy   height, 
Far  beneath  a  cliff  drops  darkly  into  mystery 

and  night. 

Here  no  mark  of  wandering  hoof-beat  strays 

to  scar  the  crusted  snows, 
Here    formidable    defenses    guard    the    great 

crag's  bleak  repose, 


IN   THE  SHADOW  OF   THE  CRAG. 


Here  the  wild,  aggressive  aspect  softening- 
drifts  cannot  efface, 

And  a  heart  inured  to  danger  well  may  pause 
in  such  a  place. 

To  the  rock  there  seems  appended  some  dis 
cernible  approach, 

Though  great  boulders  mar  its  outline  and 
though  frozen  streams  encroach ; 

Years,  long  years,  with  brow  dark  beetling, 
it  has  scowled  on  hill  and  plain, 

Years,  long  years,  its  glooming  shadow  on 
the  mountain's  breast  has  lain. 

When  the  Spring  unclasps  the  river  from  its 

long-locked  icy  sheath, 
Then   a   second   crag   floats   trembling   in   the 

waters   far  beneath, 

And   the   white-finned   salmon    darting   where 

the  depths  of  crystal  gleam 
Shun  the  shade  that  wavers  darkly  as  it  falls 

athwart  the  stream. 


40 


IN   THE  SHADOW  OF  THE   CRAG. 


Vague  tradition  wraps  in  shadow  deeper  still 

the  jagged  crest, 
And  far  out  upon  the  seacoast  where  the  red 

sun  o-ilds  the  west 


Lives  a  tale  of  how  a  warrior  bore  the  death 

he  rightly  won 
Who    designed    to    lead    a    paleface    to    the 

Great  Crag  of  the  Sun. 

One  dull   dawn,    before  the  ghost-light   fades 

beneath  advancing  day, 
Over    drifts     that     lie     unbroken     Tokohoma 

takes  his  way; 

North  he  speeds  o'er  rising  uplands  that  de 
flect  toward  the  west, 

Where  the  Great  Crag,  looming  darkly,  stirs 
strange  tumult  in  his  breast ; 

Many  times  its  rugged  outline  he  has  traced 

against  the  sky, 
Many  times  its  sober  grandeur  has  compelled 

his  heart  and  eve, 


IN   THE  SHADOW  OF  THE   CRAG. 


Though   familiar   with   its  phases  as    it    rises 

bleak  and  sheer, 
Yet  he  ne'er  has  braved  its  shadow  but  with 

superstitious  fear. 

Soon  the  plain  is  left  behind  him   stretching 

far  toward  the  east, 
And  he  turns  to  face  new  hazards  that  each 

moment  are  increased, 

Cautiously   he  goes,  and  slowly,  in  the  hush 

of  bated  breath, 
For  who  braves  the  Crag's  dominions  braves 

them  hand  in  hand  with  death. 


Giant    rocks    must    be    surmounted,     shad'wy 

chasms  must  be  crossed. 
Shallow  footholds  forced  in  ice-blocks  where 

the  mountain  streams  have  tossed, 

Spines   of  jagged   rock   are  pathways   swung 

between  the  earth  and  sky. 
Where  his  heart  must  beat  courageous  if  he 

have  no  wish  to  die. 


42 


IN   THE  SHADOW  OF  THE   CRAG. 


Here   he    skirts    a   ledge,    long   riven    by    the 

force  of  some  past  shock, 
Where  lie  fossil  ferns  embedded  in  the  strata 

of  the  rock; 

Here  is  shunned  a  pit  smooth-crusted  by  its 

overhanging  drifts 
Fairy  edged  in  feathery  hoar  frost  trembling 

lightly  in  the  rifts. 

Where  this  fissure  yawns  abysmal  to  a  depth 

of  fearful  gloom 
Is  the  spot  the  redskin  traitor  met  the  horror 

of  his  doom. 

Tokohoma  nears  its  darkness.     He  must  leap 

it.     It  is  done. 
And  he  sinks  fatigued  and  breathless  at  the 

Great  Crag  of  the  Sun. 

Here   he    rests    till    day    comes    bursting    o'er 

the  plain  in  angry  red, 
Till  the  lurid  light  beats  fiercely  on  the  rock 

swung  overhead, 


IN   THE  SHADOW  OF  THE   CRAG. 


Then  he  rises,  stands  a  moment,  like  a  sinner 

imcon  fessed, 
Who,     enamored    of     his     weakness,     cannot 

pluck  it  from  his  breast, 

And  with    glances    strangely   solemn   watches 

shadows  change  and  lift 
To   disclose  beneath   the   Great   Crag,    in   the 

ledge,  a  narrow  rift 

With  a  vaulted  arch  beyond  it  stretching  back 
ward  into  gloom, 

Wrapped  in  dread  and  heavy  silence  like  the 
hush  within  a  tomb. 


Here  he  enters,  recent  struggle  marked  in  lines 
upon  his  face 

Set  in  stolid  resolution  no  conviction  may  dis 
place, 

In  a  calm  of  deadened  feeling,  like  a  swimmer, 

cramped  and  numb, 
Who  sinks  passive  'neath  the   waters  he  has 

failed  to  overcome. 


Scarce    his    eyes    become    accustomed    to    the 

cavern's  lesser  light 
Than    his    sluggish    fancy    quickens    to    one 

sweeping,  backward  flight; 

Sacred   pledges,   oaths,   traditions,   crowd   the 

cave's  forbidden  door, 
But  the  pictures  are  unwelcome,   he   resolves 

to  look  no  more. 

And   he  turns   where  broken   stratum,   virgin 

vein,  and  glist'ning  bed 
Show  the  velvet  yellow  changing  to  a  fierce 

and  sullen  red 


'Neath    a    shaft    of    sunlight    piercing    like    a 

knife-blade  keen  and  thin 
Through  the  dark  to  probe  the  secret  of  the 

mystery  within. 

Gold  is  here,  pure,  unpolluted  by  the  hand  of 

want  or  greed, 
Though   the   heart   of   many   a   chieftain   has 

been  tempted  in  his  need, 


45 


IN   THE  SHADOW  OF  THE   CRAG. 


But  a  breast  may  beat  with  honor  though  de 
nied  emblazed  device, 

And  a  man's  a  man,  though  redskin,  and  may 
stand  beyond  a  price. 

Through  injustice,  through  privation,  through 
the  white  man's  threat  and  bribe, 

Has  the  secret  been  close  guarded  by  the 
trusted  of  the  tribe. 


It  had  been  a  hope,  a  safeguard,  should  their 

landholds  be  assailed, 
It   was   held   a  final   resource  when   all   other 

means  had  failed. 

For  themselves,  such  garish  bauble  it  were  in 

them  to  despise, 
But  each  knew  the  fascination  that  it  shed  for 

other  eyes, 

And  the  vague,  uncertain  future  was  a  theme 

for  lesser  fear 
With  such  ward  against  the  season  when  the 

paleface  should  appear. 


IN   THE  SHADOW  OF  THE   CRAG. 


And  he  came.    The  moaning  pine  boughs  sway 

beneath  the  polar  star 
To  repeat  the  old,  old  story  of  the  lands  that 

lie  afar, 

Teepees  gone,  and  lodges  empty,  confiscate 
by  law  of  might, 

And  the  redman,  naked,  vanished  into  nothing 
ness  and  night. 

Then  it  was  that   graybeard  councils  gazing 

o'er  their  broken  host 
Swore   to  circumvent   the    white   man   in   the 

thing  he  wished  the  most, 

And   each   calmed   his   outraged  bosom  when 

despoiled  and  overrun 
By  an  oath  to  keep  the  secret  of  the   Great 

Crag  of  the  Sun. 

Hasten,  hasten,  Tokohoma  !  Work  while  thou 
hast  yet  the  day, 

Let  no  sacred  pledge  deter  thee,  let  no  retro 
spect  delay, 


IN   THE  SHADOW  OF  THE   CRAG. 


Fuller  pile   thy   mooseskin   pouches    till   their 

space  can  hold  no  more, 
Work,   proud   prince,   forget   that   labor  ne'er 

has  soiled  thy  hands  before. 

Work,  and  quell  that  cry  within  thee  that  goes 
harking  through  the  years 

Back  to  sufFrings  of  thy  people,  men's  priva 
tions,  women's  tears, 

And   forget  that   near  the   Yukon   where  the 

white  man  spreads  his  tent 
Glide,  at  intervals,  strange  figures  with  their 

gray  locks  lowly  bent 

That  abide  awhile  unquestioned,  like  to  souls 

that  stand  exempt, 
To   observe   the   strife   for   riches   with   grim, 

satisfied  contempt — 

That  come  somewhere  from  the  silence  to  be 

seen  awhile  of  men 
Then,  with  cloaks  close  wrapped  about  them, 

back  to  silence  sink  again. 


48 


IN   THE   SHADOW  OF  THE   CRAG. 


Hasten,    hasten,    Tokohoma,    let    no    scruple 

stay  thy  hand, 
Who  has  erred  he  will  forgive  thee,  who  has 

loved  will  understand. 

Hesitate  no  more  upon  it,  clear  thy  heart  of 

fretting  doubt, 
Act,  and  if  thou  may'st,  with  honor,  if  thou 

may'st  not,  then  without. 

Ofttimes  what  has  loomed  enormous  dwindles 

when  the  thing  be  done, 
Thus   thy   project,    with    the   gauntlet   of   thy 

superstitions  run. 

Thou,  a  Croesus,  heard' st  that  spoken  which 
through  all  thy  being  thrilled 

Yet  doth  stand,  like  others,  grieving  for  a  wish 
still  unfulfilled? 


Hast  thou  dreamed,  perhaps,  that  somewhere 
something  might  be  held  unsold? 

Hast  thou  fear  of  limitation  for  this  sullen, 
glist'ning  gold? 


49 


IN   THE  SHADOW  OF  THE   CRAG. 


Ease  thy  mind,  O  Tokohoma,  work  while  thou 

hast  day  above, 
"Gold  is   head,   and   heart,   and   feeling,   it   is 

friendship,   it   is  love." 


IN   THE  SHADOW   OF  THE  CRAG. 


VII. 


Life  within  the  snow-house  settles  to  a  sem 
blance  of  repose; 

Every  clay,  like  that  before  it,  void  of  interest 
comes  and  goes, 

Every  day  a  deeper  damask  shades  the  con 
valescent's  cheek 

And  a  lighter  tone  breaks  gently  where  but 
grief  was  wont  to  speak. 

Hope  will  live  while  life  can  struggle,  biding 
fortune's  adverse  moods 

And  from  sorrow  comes  a  patience  that  re 
bukes  vicissitudes. 


She  who  had  despaired  now  rallies  as  the  lag 
gard  days  go  by 

And  inclines  to'ard  hope,  through  instinct,  for 
to  lose  it  were  to  die. 


51 


IN   THE  SHADOW   OF  THE  CRAG. 

Surely  naught  of  hope  lies  yonder  where  bleak 

glaciers  mark  the  south, 
Surely  naught  of  promise  glistens  in  the  river's 

ice-choked  mouth, 

Yet   she  clings   in  stubborn  courage  that  the 

North  alone  can  give 
To  some  undefined  impression  that  is  hope  in 

things  that  live. 

Tokohoma  tends  his  game  snares,  going  out 

each  day  at  dawn 
To    retrace    each    feath'ry    footmark    ere    the 

mists  of  morn  are  gone; 

When  the  drifts  are  deeply  crusted  and  when 

clement  winds  abide 
He  is  seen  on  plain  and  upland,  a  companion 

by  his  side. 

Oft   their   forms    are   silhouetted   on   the   dull 

sky's  yellow  rim 
As  they  swing  o'er  rise  and  lowland,   strong 

of  breath  and  free  of  limb. 


IN   THE  SHADOW   OF  THE  CRAG. 


Hindered  by  no  clinging  garments,  wearied  by 

no  useless  dress, 
She  who  stands  in  fur  and  buckskin  stands  a 

woman  none  the  less 

With   the    touch    sublime    and    subtle,    deeply 

lying,  that  defies 
Any  form  of  garb  to  change  it,  any  custom  to 

disguise. 

Mile  on  mile  is  quickly  covered  over  stretches 

bleak  and  bare — 
Thus    she    finds    the    panacea    that    can    cope 

against  despair, 

Thus  contrives  to  tire  her  body  that  all  thought 

may  be  at  rest 
And  remains  abroad  the  longer  when  her  heart 

is  most  distressed. 

Tokohoma  ne'er  surmises  what  is  passing  in 

her  mind, 
In   his    self-hallucination    he   remains   content 

and  blind, 


IN   THE  SHADOW   OF  THE  CRAG. 


And    construes    to    suit    his    pleasure    sighs 

that  inadvertent  start 
While  she  feeds,  all  unsuspecting,  the  strange 

passion  of  his  heart. 

Time  comes  round  when  such  long  rambles  fail 

to  bring  the  peace  desired 
When    against    her    hopeful    courage    all    the 

Northland  seems  conspired; 

f 

Its  great,  glistening  plains  appal  her,  its  relent- 

lessness  affrights, 
Menace  taints  the  gloomy  story  its  forbidding 

finger  writes 

And  she  ofttimes  seeks  the  shelter  of  the  cabin 

tired,  unnerved, 
There  to  shut  away  the  picture,  there  to  sorrow 

unobserved, 

There  to  feel  the  hope  for  succor  sink  beneath 

assailing  doubt 
And  a  poignant  dread  steal  o'er  her  of  those 

silent  ways  without,, 


54 


IN   THE  SHADOW   OF  THE  CRAG. 


One  day  prostrate  thus,  but  hiding  each  dis 
tress  of  heart  and  mind 

Lest  the  tears  should  seem  ungrateful,  and  the 
discontent  unkind, 

One  day,  just  as  twilight  darkens  to  the  shade 

that  evening  wears 
And    she    bends    in    deep    attention    o'er    her 

meager  household  cares, 

Far  from  out  the  void  comes  trembling  that 
which  makes  her  pulses  start, 

That  which  holds  the  blood  suspended  in  the 
ways  that  touch  her  heart; 

Something  vague,  and  yet  apparent,  tangible, 

and  still  unreal, 
Seems    to    spread    in    widening    circles    and 

through  all  the  Northland  steal; 

Something  undefined,  elusive,  that  a  moment 

fills  the  pause 
Lying   'twixt   her   heart's   sensations   and   the 

question  of  the  cause, 


56 


IN   THE  SHADOW   OF  THE  CRAG. 


Loud,  then  soft,  then  sunk  to  nothing,  as  each 
air-gust  fades  and  swells, 

Intermittent  sound  and  silence  like  the  rhyth 
mic  swing  of  bells. 

On  the  wind  seems  borne  the  fragment  of  a 

trailing,  broken  word, 
Quick  she  turns,  but  Tokohoma  gives  no  sign 

if  he  has  heard, 

And  she  scarce  has  lent  attention  to  her  small 

pursuits  again, 
Checking  what  she  would  have  spoken,  pond'- 

ring  what  it  may  have  been, 

When  a   gust   of   stronger   pressure   sweeping 

past  the  cabin  door 
Brings  the  sound  in  vibrant  measure,  this  time 

louder  than  before. 

This    time   there    is    no    mistaking,    this    time 

Tokohoma  hears, 
Quick  he  gains  the  cabin  doorway,  through  the 

purpling  twilight  peers 


5G 


IN    THE  SHADOW    OF   THE   CRAG. 


To  behold  a  muffled  figure  swinging  o'er  the 

dark'ning  snow, 
And  to  meet  a  salutation  sounded  in  a  deep 

"Hallo!" 


Scarcely  is  the  greeting  answered,  scarce  the 

first  surprise  is  o'er, 
Ere   the    dogs    and    sled   sweep    circling   to    a 

halt  before  the  door; 

Here  they  loom  unreal  and  spectral  in  the 
slow  declining  light 

\Yhile  the  stranger's  hearty  accents  beg  a  shel 
ter  for  the  night. 

It   is  said,   by   them   that   suffer,   that   despair 

alone  can  kill. 
These  have  never  known  the  anguish  of  a  great 

joy's  sudden  thrill. 

She,  within,  stands  tense  and  rigid,  like  to  one 

of  power  bereft, 
And.  from  out  fast  merging  senses,  finds  but 

expectation  left 


57 


IN   THE  SHADOW   OF  THE  CRAG. 


When  at  last  they  stand  together  in  the  half 

lit,  low  walled  place, 
Deep  and  differing  emotions  showing  plainly 

in  each  face. 


O,  what  energy  is  wasted  in  pursuit  of  false 

desires ! 
O,  what  sacrifices  redden,  feeding  useless  altar 

fires ! 

Through  the  world  we  seek  life's  touchstone, 
ardently,  from  sun  to  sun, 

And  the  hour  'tis  least  expected,  lo,  the  won 
drous  thing  is  done. 

And  'tis  not  the  wealth  of  wisdom,  and  'tis 
not  the  glint  of  gold, 

It  is  not  the  thing  long  dreamed  of,  that  ob 
tained,  we  priceless  hold, 

But  a  rainbow  tinted  bubble  showing,  to  aston 
ished  eyes, 

Giant  plan  and  cherished  purpose  dwarft  to 
things  of  pigmy  size; 


58 


IN   THE  SHADOW   OF  THE  CRAG. 

And  the  shimmering  opalescence  that  fills  earth 

and  sky  above 
Is  the  old,  familiar  story,  which  is  all,  for  it 

is  love. 


In  the  time  it  takes  the  glances  to  observe  the 
lightning's  sheen 

It  was  done,  yet  not  so  quickly  but  one  watch 
ing  there  has  seen : 

In    the    redman    dormant    passions    to    their 

channels  wildly  set 
As  the   look   of  maid  and  stranger  tell   that 

kindred  souls  have  met. 


IN  THE  SHADOW   OF  THE  CRAG. 


VIII. 


When  we  love,  the  thing  that  frets  us  is  un 
willingly  believed, 

We  are  wroth  with  doubts  of  warning,  happier, 
far,  to  be  deceived; 

Some  strange  madness  holds  us  sanguine  e'en 

beneath  suspicion's  frown 
And  we  scarce  admit  disaster  when  our  house 

of  cards  goes  down. 


So  it  is  with  Tokohoma  when  the  first  wild 

flush  is  o'er, 
When  the  inward  tumult  settles  to  the  calm  it 

knew  before, 

With    the    difference    that    his    passions    now 

awakened  to  distrust 
Lie,  a  lake  of  seething  lava,  straining  at  the 

broken  crust. 


IN   THE  SHADOW   OF  THE  CRAG. 


But  he  makes  each  doubt  subservient  to  the 

hope  that  love  inspires 
And  continues  blind  and  stubborn  in  the  way 

of  his  desires. 

Many  morns  have  now  been  numbered  by  the 
sun's  uncertain  light 

Since  the  stranger  begged  the  favor  of  a  shel 
ter  for  the  night. 

\Yhen  came  troops  of  urgent  promptings  that 

he  should  resume  his  way 
Compromise  would  'wait  on  duty  to  result  in 

fresh  delay. 

She  of  gentle  heart,  full  naively,  all  her  sweet 
persuasion  lends 

And  through  days  of  happy  converse  the  pro 
tracted  stay  extends ; 


Time  is   tuned  to  love  and  raptures  that  no 

further  wish  comprise 
Than  the  priv'lege  of  confession,  told  already 

through  the  eyes. 


IN   THE  SHADOW   OF  THE  CRAG. 


Life  takes  on  a  brighter  color  in  the  days  that 
follow  this, 

All  the  Northland  seems  transfigured  as  be 
neath  an  angel's  kiss; 

Maid  and  lover  find  new  beauty  in  the  vari- 

tinted  sky, 
Watch    together    bright    plumed    eagles    that, 

o'er  hilltops,  circling  fly, 

Hunt  the  home  of  snowflowers  nestling  in  the 

bosom  of  the  drifts 
And    explore,    like    happy    children,    caves    of 

overhanging  rifts. 

Sometimes,  in  excess  of  spirits,  when  she  lifts 

her  voice  in  song 
It    is    heard    by    Tokohoma,    faintly,    as    he 

speeds  along 

With  his  steps  still  to'ard  the  darkness  of  the 
Great  Crag  in  the  west 

And  the  hope  of  love  still  vibrant  to  each  pulse- 
beat  of  his  breast. 


62 


IN   THE  SHADOW  OF  THE  CRAG. 


Since   that  night  of  jealous  anger  when  the 

stranger  first  appeared 
He  has  held  in  leash  his  passions  and  dismissed 

the  things  he  feared. 

'Tis  his  way  with  mooted  questions  to  revolve 

them  o'er  and  o'er, 
But  when  once  they  are  decided  to  revert  to 

them  no  more. 

Thus  his  usual  projects  find  him  with  a  clear, 

untroubled  mind, 
With  no  anxious  doubt  attaching  to  the  pair 

he  leaves  behind, 

Who,  their  happy  love  indulging,  greet  each 

other  at  the  dawn 
With  no  thought  of  Tokohoma  save  that  he 

abroad  is  gone. 

Glad  that  clay  is  here  before  them  where  the 

darkness  late  has  been, 
Glad  to  roam   their  snow-ringed  Eden   giv'n 

to  love  each  other  in, 


IN  THE   SHADOW  OF  THE  CRAG. 


Still  they  watch  the  sun-shafts  brighten 
through  the  overhanging  haze 

All  unskilled  to  read  the  secret  of  those  tower 
ing  peaks  they  praise, 

All   unconscious  that   the   Great   Crag  shows 

beneath  the  rising  sun, 
That  the  work  will,   'neath  its   shadow,  in  a 

little  time  be  done. 


Love,   confessed,    at   last    lies   tranquil    'neath 

contentment  that  it  brings 
And  the  talk  of  maid  and  stranger  turns  again 

to  other  things; 

Plan   and  project   half    forgotten   in  the  joys 

that  nearer  pressed 
Now    return    with    deeper    interest,    fevered 

with  the  old  unrest. 

When  the  lover  shares  the  secret  of  his  mission 

there,   it  seems 
Warp  and  woof  of  that  frail  fabric  which  the 

substance  is  of  dreams; 


IN   THE   SHADOW  OF  THE  CRAG. 


Deep  the  story  is  with  interest,   he  who  tells 

it  halts  for  breath 
Like  to  him  from  whom  he  had  it  ere  his  lips 

were  sealed  in  death. 

Meager   word   he   has    for   guidance,    mem'ry 

only  serves  for  plan, 
But  'tis  here,  this  wealth  of  Croesus,   in  the 

circle  of  a  span. 

Once  again  the  North  is  calling  with  the  siren 

voice  of  old, 
Once  again   ambition   trembles   with  the   lust 

for  yellow  gold, 

Once  again  the  tinkling  sledge-bells   fret  the 

silence  of  the  dawn 
And  return  to  find  the  snow-house  when  the 

shades  of  night  are  drawn. 

Days  are  spent  in  fruitless  effort,  empty  search, 

and  useless  toil, 
Hope  sustained  on   that  which    fails   it   must 

upon  itself  recoil, 


IN   THE  SHADOW   OF  THE  CRAG. 


But  the  sting  of  disappointment  when  the 
primal  pain  is  o'er, 

Leaves  the  stranger  still  as  eager,  and  as  san 
guine  as  before. 

Thus  he  spends  the  time  indulging  old  am 
bitions,  hope  compels ; 

Thus  each  night  the  maid  who  loves  him 
listens,  listens,  for  the  bells, 

And  their  distant,  muffled  echo  lightly  tossed 
from  mound  to  mound 

Rolls  but  faint,  still  all  her  being  leaps  respon 
sive  to  the  sound. 

Yet,  at  times,  come  vague  present'ments,  that, 

in  terror,  hold  her  dumb ; 
What   if   never   from   the   silence   should   the 

sledge-bells  tinkling  come? 

What  if  yonder  sun  declining  mark  the  epoch 

with  its  beams 
When  her  soul  shall  wake  to  torment  from  the 

joy  of  empty  dreams? 


IN   THE  SHADOW   OF  THE  CRAG. 


Thus,    full  oft,   she   frets  her  spirit  with   the 

pain  of  love's  alarms, 
Thus,  full  oft,  misgivings  vanish,  fading  'neath 

protecting  arms. 

Once,  when  such  grave  dread  assails  her  that 

her  eyes  overflow  with  tears, 
And  her  lover  soothes  with  kisses  all  her  doubts 

and  foolish  fears, 

One    approaching    to'ard    the    cabin    where    a 

ling' ring  sunbeam  plays, 
Stops  without  to  view  the  picture,  as  it  were, 

through  crimson  haze; 

From  his  back,  as  is  his  custom,  flings  his  game 

upon  the  floor, 
But  omits  the  usual  greeting  as  he  steps  within 

the  door. 


IN   THE  SHADOW   OF  THE  CRAG. 


IX. 


Morn    across    the    endless    snow-fields    creeps 

reluctantly  and  gray, 
Loath  to  mock  the  dead,  bleak  silence  with  the 

light  of  coming  day, 

Heavy  o'er  each  hill  and  river  slow  it  steals 

with  laggard  feet 
Where  the  hoar  frost  clings  in  garlands  like 

a  mold'ring  winding-sheet; 

It  would  seem  that  some  stray  life-throb 
should,  at  dawn,  in  gladness  start 

But  the  whole  white  stretch  lies  pulseless,  cold 
and  sullen  to  its  heart. 


Yet  about  the  cabin  yonder  signs  of  waking 

motion  shows, 
But  'tis  alien  to  the  landscape  and  the  great 

North's  grim  repose. 


IN  THE  SHADOW  OF  THE  CRAG. 


First  the  sledge-dogs  start  the  echoes  to  an 
nounce  that  night  is  fled 

Springing  up  to  greet  the  sunlight  from  each 
warm,  snow-burrowed  bed. 

From  the  snow-house  comes  the  stranger, 
drowsy  still  beneath  some  dream 

Half  regretting  that  'twas  broken  by  the 
clamor  of  the  team. 

All  night  long  had  sleep  been  troubled,  all 
night  long  had  shadows  pressed 

Round  his  couch  to  lend  discomfort  and  with 
discord  fill  his  breast; 

Faces  had,  in  wanton  fashion  flashing  by,  re 
signed  their  place 

To  a  mask,  that  came  and  vanished,  like  to 
Tokohoma's  face, 

But  when  day  in  listless  motion  o'er  the  hills 

began  to  creep 
Then  his  troubled  mind  had  drifted  to  a  calmer, 

sweeter  sleep, 


IN   THE  SHADOW   OF  THE  CRAG. 


Filled  with  vagrant  fancies  merging  to  a  better, 
happier  trend 

That  the  outcry  from  the  sledge-dogs  inter 
rupted  ere  the  end. 

Soon  the  eager  team,   full   harnessed,   stands 

impatient  for  the  start, 
Once    again    the    lover,    turning,    holds    the 

maiden  to  his  heart, 

Who,  with  that  vague  fear  upon  her  which 
from  too  great  love  will  grow, 

Closely  clings  to  him  in  silence,  strangely  loath 
to. let  him  go. 

When  his  form  is  but  a  shadow  in  the  dis 
tance  these  alarms 

Haunt  her  still  and  through  perverseness  seem 
to  mock  her  empty  arms; 

But  to  quell  each  fond  misgiving  soon  more 

cheerful  thoughts  arise, 
Sanguine  dreams  of  fairer  countries  bring  back 

hope  to  wistful  eyes, 


70 


IN   THE  SHADOW   OF  THE  CRAG. 


She,    pretending,    reads   the   future    from    the 

book's  unopened  leaves 
With  attention  keenly  busy  on  the  woof  that 

fancy  weaves. 

All  day  long  she  feels  the  promise  of  a  happier 

fortune  spring, 
All  day  long  bright  hopes  around  her  like  a 

benediction  cling 

And   when   night   across   the   Northland   in    a 

heavy   pall   is   drawn 
She,    in    doubt,   can    scarce   accredit   that   the 

happy  day  is  gone. 

Household  duties  now  commanding,  quick  she 

trims  a  feeble  light, 
Stops  between  her  cares  to  listen  to  the  noises 

of  the  night ; 

Something  yonder,   tense   and   sullen,    sweeps 

the  earth  with  broken  moan, 
She  who  hears  stands  dumb  and  rigid  like  an 

image  carved  in  stone. 


71 


IN   THE  SHADOW   OF  THE  CRAG. 


Far,    far    out,    each    surging    air-gust  fateful 

forces  swift  invites — 
This  the  sound  is  that,  full-swelling,  spoke  of 

death  that  night  of  nights ! 

Round  the  hut  stray,  hurried  snowflakes  com 
ing  forces  half  reveal, 

Bitter  cold  through  chink  and  cranny  pierces 
like  the  thrust  of  steel. 


In  the  lulls  that  come  abruptly,  quick  succeed 
ing  fitful  swells, 

She,  within,  in  deep  attention,  once  more 
listens  for  the  bells, 

Once  more  hears  their  muffled  music  roll  along 

the  changing  mounds 
Once  more  marks  each  tinkling  cadence  trail 

o 

away  in  broken  sounds, 

Once  more  waits  within  the  cabin  where  such 

happiness  has   been 
Till  the  low-browed  door  shall  open  and  her 

lover  enter  in. 


IN   THE  SHADOW   OF  THE 


Footsteps  o'er  the  snow  come  creaking  to  an 
nounce  him  near,  at  last, 

Soon  the  cabin  door  swings  shriv'ring  from 
before  a  biting  blast 

That  sweeps  walls,  and  floor,  and  ceiling, 
shrieking  loud  in  mad  delight, 

Then  whirls  back,  past  Tokohoma,  to  be 
lost  within  the  night. 

For  the   time   that   spans   a   moment    still   he 

stands  without  remark, 
Strangely     tall     his     stalwart     figure     looms 

against  the  outer  dark, 

In  his  black  hair  frost  wreaths  glisten,  snow- 
flakes  fleck  his  wolfskin  coat, 

Torn,  perhaps  by  jagged  boulders,  and  loose 
hanging  at  the  throat. 

Sullenly  at  last  he  enters,  to  all  outward  pres 
ence  blind, 

Deeply  sunk  'twould  seem  in  problems  that 
revolve  within  his  mind. 


IN   THE  SHADOW   OF  THE  CRAG. 


Lightly  moves  the  maid  preparing  that  which 

forms  the  evening  meal, 
But  full  oft  to'ard  Tokohoma  do  her  furtive 

glances  steal ; 

To  her  mind  come  wild  suggestions  that  her 

inmost  soul  rejects, 
She  refuses  as  preposterous  this  strange  thing 

she  half  suspects; 

Then  the  truth  comes  full  upon  her  sharp,  con 
vincing,  clear  defined, 

And  explains  much  bitter  rancor  in  the  heart 
once  known  as  kind. 

As    the    falcon    stares    bewildered    when    first 

loosed  from  jess  and  hood 
So  she,  dazed,  now  looks  on  actions  until  now 

misunderstood ; 


Tn  the  light  of  this  revealing  she  becomes  con 
fused  and  dumb — 

They  must  go,  herself  and  lover,  lest  some 
fearful  evil  come. 


74 


IN   THE  SHADOW  OF  THE  CRAG. 


Tokohoma,  sitting  silent,  makes  as  if  he  would 

arise, 
There  seems  menace  in  his  action,  there  seems 

madness  in  his  eyes; 

O'er  the  maid  sweep  vague  present'ments, 
what  they  are  she  scarce  can  say, 

But  her  heart  reads  evil  omen  in  her  lover's 
long  delay. 

In  this  drift  of  speculation  time  has  passed  not 
marked  before, 

Up  she  starts,  alarmed  and  anxious,  swift  pro 
ceeds  toward  the  door 

And  when  faint  and  all  but  sinking  'neath  the 

problem  of  her  doubt 
Tokohoma    flashes    past    her    and    in    frenzy 

rushes  out. 

Out,    far   out,   his   form   soon   merges   in   the 

shadows  of  the  west ; 
Out,    far  out,  with  dread   emotions   storming 

fiercely  in  his  breast, 


IN  THE  SHADOW  OF  THE  CRAG. 


Glad  he  is  to  whip  through  wind-gusts  sweep 
ing  by  with  broken  wail, 

Glad  he  is  to  buffet  forces  marshalled  for  the 
gathering  gale; 

Swift  he  spurns  each  ice-clad  boulder,  heedless 

passes  trap  and  lure, 
Scorns  to  cling  where  shallow  footholds  mark 

the  way  as  insecure, 

Wildly  leaps  each  drift  and  chasm,  desp'rate 

till  the  goal  be  won 
And  at  last  stands  torn  and   bleeding  'neath 

the  Great  Crag  of  the  Sun. 

Scudding  clouds  that  fly  wind  driven,  show  a 

path  of  ghostly  light 
Where  the  pale  moon,  hanging  distant,  seems 

to  mock  the  frozen  night. 

In  a  patch  of  open  sky-line  where  the  forces 

thinly  set 
Tokohoma's  storm-swept  figure  shows  in  inky 

silhouette  ; 


76 


IN  THE  SHADOW  OF  THE  CRAG. 


He,  like  one  in  sudden  madness,  bares  his  tem 
ples  to  the  blast, 

Caring  not  for  dangers  present,  dwelling  not 
on  dangers  past; 

He  disdains  each  giant  wind-gust  that  assails 

his  eerie  place 
And   that   lifts   his   hair   and   flings   it   like   a 

whip  across  his  face 

But  he  feels  no  outward  lashing  of  his  passion 

driven  form 
And    his    wild,    disheveled    figure    seems    the 

spirit  of  the  storm. 

Once,  his  arms  he  stretches  upward  like  to  one 

who  bears  the  pain 
Of  a  grief,  that  grown  to  crush  him,  he  no 

longer  may  sustain, 

Then,  as  if  to  thwart  emotions  out  of  which 

such  weakness  grew, 
Quickly  turns  toward  the  cavern  and  the  work 

left  still  to  do. 


IN  THE  SHADOW  OF  THE  CRAG. 


When  desires  that  love  has  cherished,  when  the 

life  that  love  has  planned 
Fade  away  in  swift  destruction  ere  we  come  to 

understand, 

Then  'tis  not  the  final  wrecking  of  our  hopes 

that  rends  the  heart 
But  the  looking  on  the  dumb  things  that  have 

been  of  love  a  part. 

Tokohoma  takes  the  pouches,  one  by  one,  from 

out  their  place 
And    a    wave    of   tender    feeling   hotly   burns 

within  his  face; 

Dreams  are  here,  and  fancied  projects,  in  these 

mooseskin  pouches  rolled, 
Hopes  and  sweet  anticipations,  garnered  with 

the  gathered  gold; 

Here  are    gentle    thoughts    compelling    to'ard 

the  love  he  hoped  to  win 
And  beneath  each  thong  some  life-drop  of  his 

heart  is  fastened  in. 


78 


IN   THE  SHADOW  OF  THE  CRAG. 


Rouse  thyself,  O  Tokohoma,  let  thy  inner  soul 

be  dumb; 
Is  it  royal  prince,  or  woman,  that  can  thus  be 

overcome  ? 

Thou  hast  seen  a  star  swing  hither  and  its  orbit 

touched  thy  course — 
It  has  passed — thy  way  is  yonder,  true  to  thy 

compelling  force. 

Rouse  thyself  and  let  the  temper  of  thy  fathers 

in  thee  speak, 
Let  thy  manhood  shame  the  weakness  showing 

pallid  on  thy  cheek, 

And  the  work  that  brought  thee  hither,  let  it 

be  completely  clone, 
It  is  well  that  hope  should  end  here  where  thy 

folly  was  begun. 

Then,  beneath  the  crag  is  motion  that  would 

kin  to  frenzy  seem, 
In   the   fitful    light   quick    flashes   that   which 

shows  with  velvet  gleam; 


79 


IN   THE   SHADOW   OF  THE  CRAG. 


Down,  deep  down,  through  space  descending, 
hard  and  yellow,  shining,  cold, 

Leaps,  with  sudden  flings  and  dashes,  hoard  on 
hoard  of  glist'ning  gold; 

Down  it  springs  like  bright  blades  flashing, 
each  removed  from  shrouding  sheath, 

Till  it  hides  within  the  shadows  of  the  river 
far  beneath. 

When  at  last  the  task  is  ended  Tokohoma  turns 

his  face 
And   looks   long  toward   the  cabin,    standing 

rigid  in  his  place; 

In  his  pose  is  that  intenseness  of  a  question  deep 

involved, 
In  his  look  that  indecision  of  a  purpose  half 

resolved ; 

But   he  turns  aside  suggestions,   holding  one 

alone  exempt 
And  at  last  this,  too,  dismisses  with  a  gesture 

of  contempt. 


so 


IN  THE  SHADOW  OF  THE  CRAG. 


Wild  and  strange  his  form  in  shadow  marks 

itself  against  the  light 
As  he  turns  and  sets  sharp  northward  to  be  lost 

within  the  night. 


IN  THE  SHADOW  OF  THE  CRAG. 


X. 


When  the  storm  is  spent  and  morning  in  the 

curtained  east  is  shown 
Then  the   Northland,   cold  and  empty,  comes 

again  into  its  own. 

Naught  disturbs  the  lonely  distance  save  a  cry 

that  spreads  afar 
As  a  wolf,  on  crouching  haunches,  points  his 

nose  toward  a  star. 

Landmarks  that  were  things  familiar  lie  in 
consequent  and  strange; 

Where  was  life  now  seems  existent  some  mute 
evidence  of  change, 

Restless  snow-drifts  hedge  the  cabin  and  the 
snow-house  close  about 

And  the  paths  before  their  doorways  are  for 
ever  blotted  out. 


IN   THE  SHADOW  OF  THE   CRAG. 


Like  a  wraith,  the  chill  of  morning  through  the 

hut,  unhindered,  steals 
And  it  writes  in  silver  tracings  on  the  things 

the  light  reveals, 

Yet  it  can  record  no  motion  that  the  distant 

dawn  awoke 
Save  that  from  the  lamp,  still  burning,  trails  a 

line  of  quiv'ring  smoke; 

Too,  a  sheet  of  snow,  thin  drifted,  creeps  across 

the  cabin  floor 
Like  a  restless  ghost,  and  yonder,  just  outside 

the  open  door, 

Tiny  whirls  of  powd'ry  lightness  hiss  against 

a  growing  mound 
That   has   ris'n  to  hide   beneath  it  what   has 

stained  the  frozen  ground. 

Fitful  gusts  of  wind,   sharp  circling,   quickly 

fill  each  sunken  rift 
Cov'ring     close     the     sledge's     burden     lying 

deep  within  the  drift. 


IN   THE  SHADOW  OF  THE  CRAG. 


When  the  laggard  sun,  slow  mounting,  gives 

the  day  a  deeper  glow 
Then    is    shown    two    quiet    figures    outlined 

'neath  the  drifted  snow, 

One  a  man's  is,  all  unconscious  that  his  blood 
less  lips  are  pressed 

By  a  woman,  who,  still  kneeling,  clasps  her 
lover  to  her  breast. 

In  the  North  the  air  hangs  heavy  'neath  the 

silence  of  the  years 
And  the   wind   moans  low   and  broken   as   it 

sweeps  between  the  spheres. 


EARTH'S  LESSON. 


EARTH'S  LESSON. 


Why  should  we  not  bring  smiles  instead   of 

tears 

To  lay  upon  the  altar-stone  of  God? 
Why  hold  beliefs  of  superstitious  years 
That  dwarf  the  spirit  with  discordant  fears 
And  outrage  flesh  with  harsh,  insulting  rod? 

Why  should  we  not  come  singing  to  the  throne 

With  hearts  that  in  ebulliency  of  joy 

Seem  bursting   from   their   cells,    too   narrow 

grown  ? 

O,  why  should  man  reap  nothing  of  the  sown 
But  tares,  and  all  the  beautiful  destroy? 

The  feast  is  spread  and  we  are  asked  to  dine ; 
What  sullenness  of  temper  does  it  show 
To  rudely  turn  from  kindly  proffered  wine 
And  pass  with  shielded  eyes  where  splendors 

shine. 
The  Father  never  meant  it  should  be  so. 


87 


THEN     AS    NOW. 


Sing,  sing  fair  earth,  till  every  silent  throat 
Responds  unto  the  life-song  of  your  sod 
And  thunder-sounding  rolls  each  swelling  note  • 
And  teach  us  by  your  own  sweet,  simple  rote 
To  smile  beneath  the  kindly  smile  of  God. 


THEN  AS  NOW. 

Long,  long  ago  when  butterflies 
Could  converse  hold,  and  let  men  know 
Their  wants,  they  caught  the  traits  of  men 
As  I  will  undertake  to  show. 


Two  butterflies  were  winging  past 
King  Solomon's  temple,  grand  and  vast; 
From  touch  of  wing  and  foolish  flutter 
'Twas  plain  unto  the  most  benighted, 
Their  troth  had  just  that  day  been  plighted. 


THEN    AS    NOW. 


Like  maid  perplexed  when  blushes  come, 
My  Lady  Butterfly  was  dumb, 
But,  bursting  with  his  own  importance, 
My  great  Lord  Butterfly,  loquacious, 
Spoke  of  himself  in  way  audacious. 


"You  see  yon  temple,  dear,"  he  said; 
She  answered,   "Yes,"   by  nod  of  head; 
"Well,  with  my  wing,  all  down  encovered, 
I  easily  those  pillars,  polished, 
Could  tumble  at  your  feet,  demolished." 


This  bold  remark  was  overheard 

By  Solomon :   "Upon   my  word 

Who  ever  knew  such  braggart  boasting?" 

Then  calling  him  aside,  demanded 

Why  he  should  lie  thus  open-handed. 


Returning  to  his  mate  at  last, 
She,  woman-like,  asked  what  had  passed; 
And  he,  man-like,  to  stop  at  nothing 
So,  with  eclat,  he  might  come  through  it, 
Replied,  "He  asked  me  not  to  do  it." 


THE    EARTH-CALL. 


THE  EARTH-CALL. 


To  you,  in  cowl  and  gown, 

Who  stand  aloof  with  hands  crossed  on  your 

breast 

And  patient  head  bowed  clown, 
Do  wild  thoughts  ever  come? 
Do  ghosts  of  former  hours  now  long  since  spent 
In  phantom  shape  renew  the  joys  they  lent 
And  hold  you  in  their  vagaries  of  air; 
Do  you  at  times  awake  to  find  your  prayer 
Forgotten,  and  lips   dumb? 

Beneath  that  sober  garb 
Do  vagrant  longings  ever  stir  to  vex 
Your  heart  with  cruel  barb? 
Do  dreams  you  thought  long  crushed 
Rush  full  upon  you  o'er  your  weakening  will 
And  make  your  pulses  leap   with   quickening 
thrill? 


90 


THE    EARTH-CALL. 


What   guilty   blush    is    this   that    stains    your 

cheek  ? 
The  scourge,  the  scourge  for  one  avowed  so 

weak 
Till  lawlessness  is  hushed! 

Do  voices  from  the  throng, 

Strange,  weird  world-voices,  ever  reach  your 

heart 

And  still  your  matin  song? 
Do  you,  too,  ever  seem 
To  see  the  better  happiness  afar 
And,  when  'tis  day,  long  for  the  night's  pale 

star, 
Then,  scarce  the  night  comes,  wish  the  day 

again  ? 

Your  lot  is  but  the  common  lot  of  men ; 
Back  to  your  beads — to  dream. 


91 


THE  GREATER  VICTORY. 


THE  GREATER  VICTORY. 


There  was  a  way,  a  joy,  a  mystic,  unnamed 

thing 

A  dreamer  sought — 
As  vague  as  air  that's  troubled  by  a  swallow's 

wing — 
Ideal,  intangible,  and  shadow-fraught. 

Impossible  it  seemed,  so  much  it  held  desired, 

So  much  implied, 
So  near,  yet  so  remote;  uncertainty  conspired 

To  make  it  seem  by  distance  deified. 


One  day  the  prize  was  gained;  he  struggled 

through  despair, 
Through  ways  defiled, 
To  grasp  a  poisoned  cup;  the  watching  world 

stood  there 
And  so  he  pressed  it  to  his  lips  and  smiled. 


THE    LOVE-PLAINT. 


THE  LOVE-PLAINT. 


For  my  love  and  me 

How  the  robins  sang  in  the  greenwood  tree, 

How  the  great  bell's  voice 

In  the  church  afar  made  the  hills  rejoice 

For  my  love  and  me. 

On  the  sun-kissed  lea, 

Where  the  wanton  flower  litres  the  roving  bee, 
There  we  rested  long, 

And  the  whole  world  throbbed  to  the  passion- 
song 
Of  my  love  and  me. 


Ah,  my  love  and  me, 

How  we  creep  afar  lest  the  world  shall  see 

What  my  arms  enfold ; 

O,  the  way  is  long  and  the  world  is  cold 

For  my  love  and  me. 


AT    SAN    JUAN    CAPISTRANO. 


AT  SAN  JUAN  CAPISTRANO-. 

The  story  runs  thus :  'Twas  a  Sabbath  morn 
So  still  that  no  leaf  of  the  tasseled  corn 
Which  weighted  the  stalks  in  the  neighb'ring 

field 

By  rustle  or  tremor  a  breeze  revealed; 
A  pastoral  scene  that  was  fair  to  view, 
With  cattle  in  clover-flecked  fields  of  dew, 
And  the  sun  just  touching  with  burnished  gold 
San  Juan  Capristrano,  the  mission  old. 

With  them  that  kneel  down  'neath  its  arches, 

dim, 

In  the  love  of  their  hearts  to  remember  Him 
Is  she,  who,  low-bowed  in  her  place  of  prayer, 
Seems   shunned    by   the    faithful   who   gather 

there ; 

Bright  feminine  eyes  on  her  fair  face  rest, 
On  her  rounded  arm  and  her  swelling  breast, 
And  each  seems  inclined  to  deny  assent 
To  beauty  that  sins  and  is  penitent. 

Out  yonder  a  silence  shrouds  copse  and  hill 
And  fastens  the  valley  within  its  thrill ; 


94 


AT    SAN    JUAN    CAPISTRANO. 


A  ponderous  terror  that  creeps  along 
And  hushes  the  notes  of  the  thrush's  song, 
A  sullen,  intangible,  grewsome  thing, 
The  shadow,  unseen,  of  a  monster-wing, 
That  gathers  the  steeps  in  its  mystic  clutch 
And  palsies  the  air  with  mesmeric  touch. 

The  animate  harken;  the  silence  speaks; 
Back     flashes    the    answer    in     fear-blanched 

cheeks, 

And  horrors,  half  dreamed  of,  suspended  lie 
In  the  beat  of  the  breath  and  the  wid'ning  eye; 
A  rumble,  a  rending,  a  power  compressed 
That  tortures  the  hills  with  its  deep  unrest, 
A  shiver,  a  pause,  then  the  temblor's  hurled 
In  the  white  of  its  wrath  on  a  helpless  world. 

The  mystery  gathers  within  the  dell 
And  hushes  the  sound  of  the  mission  bell, 
It  razes  the  stones  with  its  lev'ling  rod 
And  crushes  the  cries  that  are  raised  to  God. 
No  soul,  in  the  chapel,  that  felt  its  breath 
But  rushed  to  the  doors  to  a  frenzied  death 
Save  her  who  was  shunned ;  lest  her  faint  heart 

fail 
She  had  knelt,  in  her  faith,  at  the  altar  rail. 


*When  the  proud  old  mission  at  Capistrano  was  tumbled  by  an  earth 
quake  the  arch  over  the  altar  was  the  only  one  that  stood. 


95 


WHEN   LOVE  BETRAYS. 


WHEN  LOVE  BETRAYS. 

The  banshee  frets  the  night  with  dismal  cry; 
Some  twenty  times  across  the  wind-swept  dune 
I've  heard  it  come,  now  shrill,  now  scarce  a 

sigh 

That  floats  beneath  the  weird  and  pallid  moon 
Like  some  dread  echo  moaning  in  reply. 

Your  lover  soon  will  come;  rest  yet  awhile 
Till  yonder  lengthening  shadow  darkly  dips 
And  lays  its  finger  on  the  sleeping  dial, 
Then  wake  the  heavy  silence  of  your  lips 
And  rouse  their  languor  to  a  welcome  smile. 

Who    knocks    without?     You    are    impatient, 

friend, 

But  eager  lover  knows  not  how  to  wait. 
Perhaps  your  mistress  in  good  time  will  send 
And  raise  the  hopes  that  droop  disconsolate. 
Have  patience,  doors  must  open,  nights  must 

end. 


96 


WHEN   LOVE  BETRAYS. 


What !  Yet  again  ?  Could  you,  beyond  the  door, 
Behold  the  stillness  of  this  covered  thing, 
This  huddled  horror  prone  upon  the  floor 
And  watch  the  growth  of  yonder  eddying  ring 
I  wonder  would  you  seek  admittance  more? 

How  near  that  cry !  Could  I  have  heard  aright  ? 
It  seemed  to  live  within  the  very  room. 
What  fiend  conspires  to  fill  me  with  affright? 
Vague    portents    breathe    within    the    murky 

gloom 
And  fraught  with  menace  is  the  sullen  night. 

What  work,  what  work,  to  show  to-morrow's 

sun. 

O,  why,  poor  weakling,  why  did  you  not  live 
And  keep  unstained  these  sands  so  nearly  run? 

i'i<  *  -Jf.  *  * 

Now,  you  without !  let  Fate  her  verdict  give 
What  life  shall  answer  for  the  thing  I've  done. 


THE  DREAMER. 


THE  DREAMER. 


My  way  is  this :    To  rest  in  the  shade 
Deep  in  the  dusk  of  some  whispering  glade 
Drowsily  happy  and  satisfied; 
Great  are  the  wonders  that  grow  apace 
Out  of  the  heart  of  such  hallowed  place ; 
Weird  with  a  theme  I  may  not  repeat 
Pipes  of  Pan  lull  me  with  music  sweet; 
Few  know  the  path   from  the  highway  wide 
To  way  that  is  mine,  in  the  shade,  aside. 

My  way  is  this :     Apart  from  the  strife, 
Far  from  the  tumult  of  clamorous  life, 
Courting  the  comfort  the  throng  denied, 
Having  no  care  when  the  day  is  done 
If  I  shall  look  on  to-morrow's  sun; 
Glad  in  the  light  of  the  thing  that  seems, 
Happy  to  live  in  my  idle  dreams. 
This  is  no  highway  the  world  may  ride, 
This  way  that  is  mine,  in  the  shade,  aside. 


THE   WANTON. 


THE  WANTON. 


I  planted  a  rose  in  the  sandy  soil  of  an  unkept 

garden  bare, 
It  fastened  its  roots  down  deep  in  the  earth  and 

lifted  its  head  in  the  air, 
It   flung  its   arms   to  the   summer's   sky   and 

opened  its  heart  to  the  sun, 
And  seductively  pressed  its  lips  to  the  breeze 

in  joy  of  the  deed  I  had  done. 

Its  crimson  heart  was  as  red  and  sweet  as  the 

lips  of  a  woman  I  knew, 
And  I  came  to  liken  the  wanton  thing  to  her 

beauty  as  it  grew, 
It  would  blush  and  pant  in  the  sun's  hot  ray 

and  tremble  with  sweet  delight 
As  the  southern  wind  pressed  warm  and  close 

to  its  heart  in  the  sultry  night. 


THE    WANTON. 


It   would   quiver  and  bend  as  the  passionate 

wind  pressed  close  with  hot  caress, 
And  nod  and  sigh  as  the  bees  flew  by  and  flirt 

its  scarlet  dress; 
1  grew  to  hate  its  wanton  way,  despise  its  heart 

of  flame, 
Abhor  its  maddening  sweetness,  withheld  from 

none  who  came. 

So  I  crushed  its  life  in  my  hand  one  day,  in 

passion  its  roots  uptore, 
And  panting  with  shame  and  anger  gazed  on 

my  unkept  ground  once  more; 
I  loudly  laughed   in  savage  joy  to  show  the 

world  my  scorn, 
But  pressed  my  heart  with  my  bleeding  hand 

to  hide  the  eash  of  a  thorn. 


100 


A  WOMAN'S  CONSTANCY. 


A  WOMAN'S  CONSTANCY. 


A  barren  road  lies  parching  in  the  sun; 
Its  drear  monotony  and  tiresome  length 
Drag  on,  and  threaten  never  to  have  done. 

I  toil  along  the  rough,  uneven  way 

With  heart  depressed,   with  face  tear-stained 

and  worn, 
And  dread  the  light  of  each  succeeding  day. 

One  morn,  when  all  but  sunk  beneath  my  load, 
My  untaught  lips  essayed  a  prayer,  and  lo, 
The  light  of  Calvary  shone  o'er  the  road. 

No   hope   but   one,    the   cross.       A    dream    I 

nursed — 

But  that  is  dead.     O  God,  desert  me  now, 
Then  chaos  is,  and  I'm  indeed  accursed. 


101 


A  WOMAN'S  CONSTANCY. 


My  dream,  a  weakling's  dream,  no  more  shall 

fret 

My  yearning  heart.     Within  the  mighty  calm 
Of  yonder  sacred  cross,  I  will  forget. 

Come,  subtle  essence  of  a  power  divine, 
Cloak  all  my  senses  in  thy  mystery, 
And  shield  me  from  all  mastery  but  thine. 

*  *  *  *  * 

Mankind  is  weak,  O  God,  the  steady  light 
Of  Thy  great  presence  awes;  so  keep  me  firm 
Lest  I  drift  back  to  sin,  and  to  the  night. 

My  erring  heart  still  pleads  and  mourns  its  loss 

In  silent  anguish.     Is  there  no  relief 

For  those  who  kneel  and  cry  beneath  the  cross  ? 

Just  God,  forgive !    In  vain  I've  tried  to  slay 
This  love  within  my  breast.  Take  Thou  all  else 
But  give  me  back  my  dream  of  yesterday. 

*  *  *  *  *  ••   —   ; 

Two  faces  silhouetted  in  the  dawn; 

The  woman  sits  and  dreams  in  sweet  content; 

Her  prayer  is  answered,  but  the  cross  is  gone. 


102 


'And  moonbeams  lost  in  the  pulseless  nif/ht 
Arc  gathered  close  l>y  the  n: at cr- sprite." 


THE    WATER-SPRITE. 


THE  WATER-SPRITE. 


All  day  she  lies  in  a  lily's  cup, 

But  late  at  night  when  the  moon  comes  up, 

Away,  away  o'er  the  dimpling  lake 

To  a  place  she  knows  in  the  flow' ring  brake 

Where  perfumes  lift  from  a  tangled  wild 

To  thrill  the  soul  of  the  air-born  child, 

To  overcome  with  a  rare  delight 

The  ravished  sense  of  the  water-sprite. 


The  spot  is  ringed  with  a  shaded  red 
Of  flow'r-cups,  blossoming  overhead; 
Here  waves  beat  soft  on  a  sanded  beach 
With  lisping  murmur,  like  childhood's  speech; 
On  grasses  burnt  to  a  sable  brown 
She  rests  as  light  as  a  thistle-down, 
And  moonbeams  lost  in  the  pulseless  night 
Are  gathered  close  by  the  water-sprite. 


103 


THE  WATER  SPRITE. 


The   warm    air    steals   from   the   spice-groved 

South 

To  press  its  kiss  on  her  willing  mouth, 
And  where  but  promises  late  arose 
She  now  the  joy  of  fulfillment  knows; 
With  arms  flung  wide  to  the  perfume  warm, 
With  wings  sunk  limp  to  her  melting  form 
She  yields  herself  to  the  sweets  of  night, 
Those  languorous  joys  of  the  water-sprite. 


104 


IN   MEDITATION. 


IN  MEDITATION. 


Though  all  else  fade  yec  may  I  always  keep 

The  memory  of  yesterday;  that  time 

When  words  were  said  that  made  the  pulses 

leap, 

When  good  was  killed  and  evil  set  a-chime, 
And  every  impulse  that  was  virtue-fed 
Lay  prone.      'Twas  then  I  hid  the  wound  from 

which  hope  bled, 
And  made  no  outward  sign  when  it  was  dead. 

But  I've   remembered.     'Twixt  my   God   and 

me 

There  lives  a  prayer,  a  fervid,  earnest  prayer, 
That  reaches  down  through  all  infinity 
And  rests  where  lesser  pleas  would  fear  to  dare. 
When  He  shall  give  His  ultimate  decree, 
What  will  we  do,  my  soul,  when  He  shall  say 

to  me, 
"This  day  I  give  to  thee  thine  enemy." 


105 


SATIETY. 


SATIETY. 


A  man  and  a  woman  in  sad  discontent, 
Their  hearts  dull  and  heavy,  to  Cupid's  shrine 

went. 

And  knelt  at  the  altar  old,  faded  and  worn, 
To  pour  out  the  griefs  and  the  wrongs  they 

had  borne. 

Each  went  there  alone,  in  contrition  and  dread, 
Afraid  lest  the  other  should  see  love  wras  dead, 
And  shrunk  from  the  scene  the  denouement 

would  make, 

And  tried  to  evade  it  for  each  other's  sake; 
.They  only  acknowledged  in  secret,  and  shame, 
The  truth  of  the  tale  of  the  moth  and  the  flame. 

"I'm  tired,"  said  the  man,  "  'tis  the  old,  self 
same  play, 
The  same  entre  act  every  night,  every  clay, 


106 


SATIETY. 


The   same   ceaseless   babble,   cheap   tinsel  and 

gauze, 
The  same  angry  words  from  the  same  jealous 

cause, 
The  same  curtain-raiser,  the  same  curtain 

call— 
I'd  give  twenty  years  to  be  out  of  it  all." 

"I'm  tired,"  said  the  woman,  "I  kneel  to  con 
fess 

I've  wavered  and  struggled  in  sore  heart  dis 
tress, 

Brought  duty  to  bear  on  my  faltering  mind, 
But  only  ephemeral  good  could  I  find, 
And  love  lies  as  cold  and  as  dead  as  a  stone — 
I    cover    the    corpse    with  the    hopes    I    have 
known." 


"I'm  tired  of  it  all,"  said  the  man  with  a  frown, 
The  bar  to  the  holy  of  holies  threw  down, 
And  stood  there  aghast  in  the  dim,  sacred  place 
As  he  saw  in  the  dusk,  silhouetted,  a  face. 
"You   here!     For  what  purpose?"   he  falter- 

tering  cried, 
"I'm  sacking  the  Temple  of  Love,"  she  replied, 


107 


SATIETY. 


"I've  torn  down  the  idol,  depleted  the  shrine, 
Despoiled,  desecrated  this  temple  of  mine: 
The  image  I  thought  was  pure  gold  in  the  past, 
I  find  is  but  poor  imitation  at  last." 

They  parted,  and  traversed  their  different  ways 
And  thought  all  forgotten  in  happier  days, 
But    sometimes    unbidden,    heart-sick,    on   the 

rack, 
The  thoughts  of  the  man  and  the  woman  go 

back, 
And    tears    and    regrets    and    fond    memories 

crowd 
Round  a  small,  broken  image  with  hope  for  its 

shroud. 


108 


A    YESTERDAY. 


A  YESTERDAY. 

There's  a  land  I  know, 

Its  beauties  lie 

'Neath  a  tropic  sky. 
There  the  cacti  grow ; 
There  the  red-lipped,  sun-kissed  cacti  grow, 

And  glow,  and  glow. 

There's  a  face  I  know; 

To  red  lips  set 

Round  a  cigarette; 
There's  a  promise  low, 
There  are  raven  lashes  drooping  low 

O'er  eyes  that  glow. 

There's  a  spot  I  know; 

A  face  lies  white 

In  the  moon's  cold  light, 
And  the  cacti  grow — 
And  the  red-lipped  cacti  blood-red  grow, 

And  glint  and  glow. 


109 


BE    KIND. 


BE  KIND. 

If  you  are  kind 

Then  there  will  be  no  need  of  separate  ways, 
No  painful  gathering  where  tares  upraise 
Through  tears  that  blind. 

Thoughts  unconfessed 

Although  from  venom  sprung,  may  harmless 

fall, 

But  all  their  potent  power  is  past  recall 
When  once  expressed. 

And  love  lies  dead 

Sometimes  before  the  heart  is  yet  aware 
That  mortal  wound  has  been  inflicted  there 
By  hard  things  said. 

The  pulses  start, 

And  dread  alarm  through  soft  emotion  creeps, 
As  hopeless  sorrow  o'er  contentment  sweeps 
To  rouse  the  heart; 


no 


BE    KIND. 


And  when  it  wakes, 

It  turns,  like  one  that  dreams,  from  what  an 
noys 

And  beats  awhile  to  past,  remembered  joys — 
Then  slowly  breaks. 

Be  kind,  be  sweet, 

And  let  our  love   from  such   deep  source  be 

drawn 

That  each  shall  know  the  other  in  that  dawn 
Where  next  we  meet. 


in 


THE    LOVERS     TRYST. 


THE  LOVERS'  TRYST. 


A  swift  ebb  tide,  on  the  eastern  side, 
Sweeps  in  at  the  Point  Del  Mar, 
For  cycles  old  have  the  breakers  hissed 
And  swept  their  spray  in  a  circling  mist 
O'er   a    crag  that's   christened   "The    Lovers' 
Tryst." 

A  wild,  bold  run  that  the  sea-folk  shun, 

Crowned  high  by  decaying  walls, 
That,  years  ago,  were  a  castle  old, 
Where  dwelt  a  maid  with  a  heart  of  gold, 
Who  lived,  and  died,  for  a  brigand  bold. 


The  good  ship  Sue,  with  her  viking  crew, 

Set  sail  at  the  break  of  day; 
All  night  she'd  drowsed  to  a  sweet  refrain 
Of  music,  sung  by  the  mighty  main, 
Whose  pulses  throbbed  at  her  anchor-chain. 


112 


THE    LOVERS     TRYST. 


Her  listless  crew  slept  the  whole  night  through, 

And  never  a  man  that  stirred, 
That  is,  save  one,  and  he  swam  to  land 
To  kiss  a  beautiful  maiden's  hand, 
And  nurse  a  love  that  was  contraband. 


And  now  he  stood  in  his  plaid  and  hood, 

And  thought  of  the  night  gone  by; 
He  thought  of  love,  and  a  maiden's  bed, 
And  a  tender  look  o'er  his  features  spread 
That  made  a  saint's  of  a  pirate's  head. 


And  when  his  ship,  with  a  flirt  and  dip, 

Swept  close  to  the  castle  wall, 
He  bared  his  head  as  he  hove  in  sight, 
And  dipped  his  flag,  in  the  morning  light, 
In  sweet  salute  to  a  form  in  white. 


"Sing  ho,  sing  ho,  my  aggressive  crew, 
"We'll  toast  the  lass,  and  the  good  ship  Sue, 
"Both  good  and  steady,  and  firm  and  true." 
Right  \vell  it  be  if  they  prove  so,  too. 


113 


THE    LOVERS     TRYST. 


A  sentinel's  face,  from  its  hiding-  place, 

Saw  Sue  clip  the  brigand  flag, 
Then  disappeared ;  in  a  moment  more 
A  bugle  sounded  from  off  the  shore 
That  made  the  echoes  with  challenge  roar. 


A  call  to  arms,  while  the  sharp  alarms 

Ring  quick  'long  the  castle  walls, 
A  shot  flies  swift,  o'er  the  waters  blue, 
That's  answered,  quick,  by  the  viking  crew 
With  an  old  Lonp-  Tom  and  a  thirtv-two. 


Ha,  see!     A  bark  leaves  the  fortress,  dark, 

And  speeds  for  the  open  sea; 
She  cuts  the  foam  as  she  plows  along 
In  hot  pursuit  of  the  pirate  throng, 
Who  flout  her  sail  with  a  ribald  song. 


"Sing  ho,  sing  ho,  all  my  viking  crew, 
"And  sing  again  when  your  song  is  through, 
"And  make  the  jest  that  best  pleases  you." 
'Twill  be  the  same  in  an  hour  or  two. 


THE    LOVERS     TRYST. 


The  pirate  crew  would  have  sworn  that  Sue 

Could  distance  the  Falcon  bark, 
But  big  and  red  in  the  morning  light 
The  Falcon's  beacon  forged  in  sight, 
And  the  viking  crew  prepared  for  fight. 


Sing  ho,  sing  ho,  let  your  song  ring  true, 
And  pipe  a  note  for  the  Falcon,  too, 
The  lassie's  father  commands  the  crew 
That  rides  the  waves  in  pursuit  of  you. 


The  light  of  day  saw  a  bloody  fray, 

The  deck  of  the  Sue  shone  red, 
Her  monkey-gaff  was  a  gallows-tree 
That  swayed  and  bent  'neath  the  corpses,  three, 
Of  pirates,  dead  as  they'll  ever  be. 


The  captain  stood,  in  his  plaid  and  hood, 

And  wielded  his  trusty  blade; 
The  ring  of  dead  he  had  piled  knee-high 
At  length  attracted  the  searching  eye 
Of  a  man  in  lace  who  was  tacking  by. 


115 


THE    LOVERS     TRYST. 


"You  imp  of  fire,"  quoth  the  irate  sire, 

"Come   measure  your   sword   with  me : 
"Forsooth,  I  vow  by  the  Sphinx's  head, 
"That  ere  the  sun  grows  a  deeper  red, 
"You'll  mark  your  length  on  a  coral  bed." 

Then  quoth  the  chief :  "By  Gilmony's  Reef, 

"It  pains  me  to  cut  your  throat; 
"But  I've  a  tryst  with  your  daughter,  fair, 
"Which  you  would  spoil,  if  you  lived,  I  swear, 
"So  pray  to  heaven  ere  you  journey  there." 

On  guard !  On  guard !  Now,  their  breath  comes 

hard, 

Now,  chances  would  seem  a  draw ; 
The  pirate  falls,  he  is  up  once  more, 
He  stumbles — slips  on  the  bloody  floor — 
The  other's  blade  spits  his  heart's  red  core. 

Then  o'er  the  rail,  with  a  lusty  hail, 
They  toppled  the  brigand  bold; 
A  valiant  man,  and  a  brave,  I  vow. 
The  father  cried :  "Will  you  tell  me  how 
"You'll    keep    your    tryst    with    my    daughter 
now?" 


116 


THE    LOVERS     TRYST. 


The  answering  word  by  the  wind  was  heard, 

But  not  by  the  Falcon  crew ; 
They  sung  their  songs  of  the  bloody  fray, 
They  sailed  back  home  to  the  fortress  gray, 
And  reached  it  just  at  the  close  of  day. 


No  single  star  o'er  the  Point  Del  Mar 
Hung  high  in  the  heavens  dark; 
The  beach  lay  black,  but  a  grew  some  sight 
Was  shown  next  day  by  the  morn's  rich  light — 
A  maiden  robed  in  a  dress  of  white. 


Sing  ho,  sing  ho,  for  the  good  ship  Sue, 

Sing  ho,  sing  ho,  for  her  captain,  too; 
He's  sung  his  song,  and  his  song  is  through, 
A  long  farewell  to  the  viking  crew. 


A  heart  of  gold,  and  a  brigand  bold, 
Her  arms  press  his  bloody  form, 
Her  cold,  dead  eyes  meet  his  glassy  stare, 
Her  white  lips  rest  on  his  sea-swept  hair. 
Thus  ends  the  tale  of  this  luckless  pair. 


117 


THE  PENALTY. 


THE  PENALTY. 


The  song  was  finished  when  the  maestro  said, 
"Dream  not  of  fame  nor  yet  of  great  success;" 
Then  kindly  added,  when  she  drooped  her  head, 
As  though  reluctant  to  implant  unrest 
Within  the  calm  Arcadia  of  her  breast, 
"Great  gifts  like  yours  from  heaven  alone  are 

sent." 

He  saw  her  hopeful  look  and  sadly  smiled; 
"Some  day  you'll  know  that  fame  is  only  meant 
"To  touch  the  lives  that  harbor  discontent; 
"Success  is  found  through  grief  and  weariness. 
"Be  loath  to  leave  the  path  where  pleasure  lies ; 
"Joy  lives  an  hour,  but  sorrow  never  dies ; 
"It  is  the  soul  of  man's  dead  happiness. 
"Ambition  is  not  born  of  ecstasy; 
"When  you  have  suffered,  then,  come  back  to 

me." 


118 


THE    MEDICI  S    NEW    YEAR. 


THE  MEDICI'S  NEW  YEAR. 


Ring  on,  great  jangling  bells,  your  discord's 

sweet ; 

With  brazen  clanging  make  the  air  replete; 
I  love  the  music  of  your  metal  throats, 
I  feel  the  triumph  throbbing  in  your  notes ; 
My  heart,  a  pendulum,  keeps  rhythmic  beat 
To  every  insolence  your  tongues  repeat. 
You  speak  to  men  but  of  the  New  Year's  birth; 
Of  God's  good  will;  of  peace  upon  the  earth; 
You  speak  to  me  a  short,  exultant  word — 
My  sated  hatred  drowses  as  'tis  heard — 
You  speak  of  plundered  enemies  to  me, 
Of  downfall,  and  of  my  supremacy. 

As  silence  that  too  long  has  passive  hung 
Turns  venom  in  the  power  upon  your  tongue, 
So  has  the  heart  that  echoes  to  your  call, 
From  too  long  waiting,  turned  its  blood  to  gall. 
Your    threat'ning    sound,  portentous,  blatant, 

clear, 
Proclaims  a  frenzied  anger  to  my  ear; 


119 


LOVE  S   LAMENT. 


I  laugh — a  silent  laugh.     Your  voice  to  me 
Speaks  soothingly  of  strength,  and  victory. 
I  dream,  in  sweet  content,  above  the  woe 
Of  one  long  hated — a  dismantled  foe; 
And  I  repeat  when  your  last  note  is  clone, 
I  have  prevailed  'gainst  barriers — and  won ! 


LOVE'S  LAMENT. 


Cupid  drooped  his  pinions  fair; 

"Why  thus  change  my  name?"  he  queried. 

Answered  maiden,  debonair, 

In  accents  wearied : 

"Love,  put  jealousy  away, 

"Though  I  change  your  name,  don't  sorrow 

"Love  is  love — though  Jack  to-day 

"And  Joe  to-morrow." 


120 


o    5 

S  S: 


ON    LAUREL    HILL. 


ON  LAUREL  HILL. 


How  heedless  they  on  Laurel  Hill ! 

The  lark  that  has  lain  dumb 
With  weight  of  night  within  his  throat, 
With  darkness  silencing  each  note, 
Near  bursts  his  heart  with  melody 

Now  day  is  come ; 

But  matin  song  finds  no  responsive  thrill 
In  these,  the  heedless  ones,  on  Laurel  Hill. 


On  Laurel  Hill  they  love  the  night 

With  pale  stars  overhead, 
For  when  the  earth  lies  dark  and  cold 
White  tendrils  seem  to  ease  their  hold 
And  give  each  sleeper  freer  space 

Within  his  bed. 

What  care  these  silent  ones  for  dawning  light 
That  ever  fails  to  reach  them  in  their  night? 


121 


MAN'S  LOV£. 


Here's  name  and  fame  with  moss  o'ergrown 

And  white  stone  sinking  lower ; 
Each  day  the  city  grows  apace, 
Each  day  some  trav'ler  seeks  the  place 
And  to  himself  a  homestead  takes 

To  roam  no  more. 

On  Laurel  Hill  each,  housed  beneath  his  stone 
Like  surly  hermit,  guards  his  hearth,  alone. 


MAN'S  LOVE. 


You  say  you  love  me  and  affirm  no  hour 
Of  dark  adversity  could  blight  the  flower 
Of  this,  your  fervent  passion ;  that  no  deed 
Committed  or  in  embryo  would  need 
Your  absolution;  'twould  forgiven  be 
Before  'twas  spoken ;  that  your  constancy 
Could  never  equal  find.    If  you  but  knew 
The  errors  of  a  past  I  hide  from  you — 
'Tis  as  I  thought!     You,  shrinking,  turn  from 

me; 
'Tis  not  myself  you  love,  but  purity. 


122 


THE    BRIDGE. 


THE  BRIDGE. 


Here  passes  the  world  when  the  day  is  done ; 
The  toiler,  released  by  the  coming  night, 
The  child  of  misfortune,  the  rich  man's  son, 
And   shapes   that  are  born   with   the   waning 

light. 

I  loiter  again  where  the  discords  meet 
And  list  to  the  hurry  of  eager  feet 
Which  startles,  as  louder  the  noises  grow, 
The  echoes  that  hide  in  the  dusk  below. 


No  prejudice  here;  it  receives  the  great 
And  misses  them  not  when  at  last  they  pass, 
Departing  like  those  of  a  lesser  state, 
As  transient  as  breath  on  a  looking-glass ; 
It  welcomes  the  king  with  his  pageant,  proud. 
Or  sanctions  revolt  of  the  maddened  crowd 
While  onward  the  river  in  restless  throb 
Laps  in  through  its  arches  with  feeble  sob. 


123 


MAN  S    HERITAGE. 


Strange  shadows  flit  here  when  the  throng  has 

passed, 
Queer  wraiths  of  the  quay  from  the  darkness 

sprung, 
Things  lost  on  the  course  where  their  life  is 

cast 

That  vanish  when  dawn  is  with  crimson  hung; 
These  linger,  with  me,  while  desire  outstrips 
The  word  that  hangs  pending  on  phantom  lips, 
And  turn,  as  with  hope,  as  the  silence  brings 
The  theme  of  the  song  that  the  river  sings. 


MAN'S  HERITAGE. 

This  thing  called  Life !  What  care  we  take  to 

shield 

Its  little  hour.     We  fume  and  strut  about 
Forever  watchful  lest  the  light  go  out 
And  save  us  from  some  torture  that  it  yield. 

Proud  heritage !  As  through  an  open  door 
Man  enters,  strides  in  great  inconsequence 
And  then,  protesting,  forcibly  goes  hence, 
An  atom,  lost,  upon  an  unnamed  shore. 


124 


THE  VOICE   OF   SILENCE. 


THE  VOICE  OF  SILENCE. 


Not  things  we  say  but  those  we  leave  unsaid 

Discover  beauty, 

And  not  by  voiced  reproof  are  slack  hearts  led 
But  by  some  vague,  unspoken  word,  each  hears, 

That  pleads  for  duty. 

'Tis  not  the  sounds  but  silences  of  life 

To  which  we  hearken; 
The  wave-beats  in  the  sea  of  daily  strife 
Raise  clouds  of  sound,  with  silences  between 

That  light  or  darken. 

Not  in  effulgence  can  those  joys  be  found 

That  flood  the  senses, 
They  come  but  when  the  day  kills  clangorous 

sound 
And  night,  all  silent,  calms  the  fevered  blood 

And  rest  dispenses. 


125' 


THE  VOICE   OF   SILENCE. 


We    lose    the    theme    where    eloquence    has 
burned 

Nor  long  regret  it — 

It  was  a  sound ;  but  who  of  man  has  turned 
To  feel  the  thrill  of  silent,  breathing  art 

And  can  forget  it? 


When  wind-swept  storms  leave  on  the  shiv 
ering  palm 

Great  tears  that  glisten, 

And  rage-rent  forces  speak  within  the  calm, 
What  wondrous  words  are  whispered  in  the 

ears 
Of  those  who  listen. 

As  after  passion  comes  serene  repose, 

Calm  after  flurry, 

So,  after  life  comes  silence.     Ah,  who  knows 
How  we  shall  read  the  music  of  the  void 

To'ard  which  we  hurry? 


126 


SATAN  S    TOAST. 


SATAN'S  TOAST. 

Here's  to  sins  that  ye  do  and  ye  wish  to  do; 

Here's  to  promises  never  kept; 
Here's  to  lips  that  deny  with  the  morning  light 
Tender  words  that  they  whispered  at  dead  of 
night ; 

Here's  to  hearts  that  have  died  unwept. 

Here's  to  pages  ye  seal  when  the  deeds  be  done; 

Here's  to  hopes  that  ye  crush  and  kill; 
Here's  to  treacheries  hidden  in  love's  caress; 
Here's  to  times  that  ye're  silent  lest  ye  confess; 

Here's  to  mem'ries  that  shame,  and  thrill. 

Here's    to    lips    that    breathe    love    when    the 

heart  is  dead; 

Here's  to  all  that  I  claim  as  mine; 
Here's  to  ye  who  repent  as  the  daylight  starts 
And  succumb  to  your  passions  when  light  de 
parts  ; 
Here's  to  woman,  and  love,  and  wine. 


127 


THE    BENEDICTION. 


THE  BENEDICTION. 


Into  the  night  of  the  world  came  the  word 

"Let  there  be  light;" 
Trembled    each    dormant    thing   when    it    had 

heard, 

Burst  then  from  countless  throats 
Long-hushed,  imprisoned  notes, 

Loosed  from  the  night; 
Gems  that  had  lusterless  lain  in  the  gloom 
Radiant    shone    as    shines    faith    through    the 
tomb 

Blessing  the  sight; 
Glory  had  come 

Breathing  its  soul  into  things  that  were  dumb. 
When   will   the   word   enter   the   dark   of   my 

empty  life, 

Easing  my  heart  of  its  useless  strife, 
Sweeping  my  soul  of  its  bitter  night, 
When  will  be  heard,  "Let  there  be  light?" 


128 


THE  PASSING  OF  THE  TIVOLI. 


THE  PASSING  OF  THE  TIVOLI. 


When  man,  grown  rebellious,  relinquished  the 

right 

To  all  things  reflecting  God's  spiritual  light, 
An  angel,  in  pity,  considered  the  cost, 
And  music  was  left  him  when  Eden  was  lost. 

And  so,  little  Tivoli,  this  is  goodbye; 

I  make  it,  old  friend,  'twixt  a  laugh  and  a  cry. 

I  know  by  the  sigh  that  will  not  be  repressed 

Another  will  never  hold  sway  in  my  breast 

As  you  have;  no  structure  of  new-fangled 
grace 

Can  blot  from  my  heart  this  Bohemian  place. 

I  love  your  old  back-breaking,  hard  seated 
chairs, 

Your  quaint,  little,  dark,  nestling  boxes  up 
stairs 

Where  many  a  man,  under  stress  of  the  play, 

Has  said  foolish  things  he  regretted  next  day. 


129 


THE  PASSING  OF  THE  TIVOLI. 


I  love  your  old  stage  with  its  fanciful  hue 

Of  settings,   no  stage  but  this  queer  one  ere 

knew, 
And  though  your  drop-curtain  is  marvelous, 

quite, 

I  haven't  the  heart  of  a  critic  to-night, 
For  all  the  defects  you  so  frankly  reveal 
Are  lost  in  the  honest  regret  that  I  feel. 


The  Catskills?  Why,  yes,  I  have  seen  them 
before, 

And  old  Rip  Van  Winkle,  tired,  weary,  and 
sore; 

Hush !  Hartman  is  speaking  beneath  the  dis 
guise 

In  a  way  that  brings  unbidden  tears  to  our  eyes. 

A  weird  and  incongruous,  hurrying  throng, 

Some  singing,  some  tragic,  sweeps  blindly 
along; 

Old  forms  and  old  faces  I  view  from  my  stall 

Long  since  praised  or  blamed  by  the  Critic  of 
All. 

I  hear  distant  music  that  stirs  in  my  breast 

A  whirlwind  of  passions,  then  soothes  them  to 
rest; 


130 


THE  PASSING  OF  THE  TIVOLI. 


For  music  can  cleanse,  like  a  chastening  rod, 
And  send  the  starved  soul,  pleading,  back  to 

its  God. 

The  melody  wakes  a  long  slumbering  sense 
That  dies,  ere  'tis  born,  from  its  own  impo 
tence. 


What's  this?    Shadow-faces  grow  dim,  and  the 

show 

Is  not  what  it  was  half  a  minute  ago. 
The  curtain  goes  down,  and  the  Tivoli's  page 
'Twixt  the  farce  of  the  world  and  the  farce  of 

the  stage 
Is  finished;  comes  silence  where  laughter  has 

dwelt. 

Impatience  I  may  have  at  other  times  felt 
Is  absent  to-night.     Old  Bohemian  place, 
I  make  my  adieux  with  a  sorrowful  face. 
Let's  walk  down  your  aisle  for  the  last  time, 

and  try 
To  whisper  goodnight,  and  forget  'tis  goodbye. 


131 


FOR  LOVE  OF  THE  BURDEN. 


FOR  LOVE  OF  THE  BURDEN. 


Should    some    bright    ray    of    kindly    fortune 

shine 

To  guide  me  from  this  long-familiar  way 
And  fill  my  cup  of  gall  with  sweetest  wine — 
Should  I  be  shown  the  victor's  shining  crown, 
Yet  sadly  would  I  turn  me  from  today 
And  with  reluctance  lav  the  burden  down. 


'Tis  not  possession  but  pursuit  that  gives 
The  charm  to  conquest,  and  in  distance  lies 
The  beck'ning  hope  of  every  soul  that  lives. 
Who  turns  his   face  to'ard  light  that  gleams 

afar 
Feels  naught  of   storms  that   fret  the  nearer 

skies 
And  knows  no  darkness  seeing  but  the  star. 


132 


FOR  LOVE  OF  THE  BURDEN. 


Heights    gained    but    furnish    leisure   to   look 

back 
On    mist-enshrouded    wrecks    that    strew    the 

night. 

O,  let  me  strive  along  the  tortuous  track, 
The  task  before  me  ever  to  be  done ; 
O,  let  me  ever  know  some  luring  light 
And  have  some  goal  forever  to  be  won. 


133 


DIOS. 


'A  BIOS." 


"A  Dios."     'Twas  lightly  spoken, 
Each  heart  left  the  other  broken, 
Without  guessing  that  'twas  so; 
Checking  tender  words  that  started, 
They,  like  strangers,  coldly  parted. 
"A  Dios."     Each  turned  to  go. 

"A  Dios."     When  love  came  trembling 
Over  thirsting  lips  dissembling, 
Then  the  words  they  would  have  said, 
Quick  were  killed  in  jest  and  laughter; 
But  the  pain  in  each  heart  after, 
Proved  Love  wounded,  but  not  dead. 

"A  Dios."     Is  this  the  ending, 
This  the  sun  of  love  descending 
Or  the  dawn  that  faintly  glows  ? 
Maybe  some  bright  morning,  after 
Love  has  conquered  jest  and  laughter, 
They  will  meet  again.     Who  knows? 


134 


THE  SUICIDE. 


THE  SUICIDE. 

What  harm  should  we   snuff  out  this    feeble 

light 

And  leave  the  broken  thing  in  which  it  burns 
Rayless  and  shadowless  within  the  night? 
What  harm  if  finally  is  quenched  the  spark 
And  that  which  men  call  spirit  never  turns 
In  resurrection  from  eternal  dark? 

The  primitive  close-threatens  with  its  rote. 
Wherefore  we  sit  enwrapped  within  our  creed 
Lest  instinct  wake  to  reason's  f altering  note. 
Could  man  go  back  through  artificial  years 
To  ponder  symbols  held  within  the  seed 
Where  then  the  hope  now  rainbowed  through 
his  tears? 

What  better  light  can  show  on  troubled  way 
Of    tired,     far- journeying    pilgrim,    than    the 

thought 
That  this  were  all ;  that  there  will  dawn  no  day 


135 


THE  SUICIDE. 


When  he  shall  rise  to  lessons  strange  and  new, 
When  tangled  problems  shall  again  be 

wrought 
And  other  tear-blotched  pages  copied  through. 

Dumb  things  that  come  upon  the  way  of  death 
Are  helped  by  such  crude  art  as  man  may  boast 
And  hastened  from  the  pain  of  fretful  breath; 
But  man  condemns  if  man  thus  leaps  the  goal. 
Through  fear  he  tortures,  where  he  loves 

the  most, 
Because  some  night-tale  whispers  of  a  soul. 


136 


THE    PHANTOM. 


THE  PHANTOM. 


In  heaven's  name,  what  shape  art  thou, 
With   threat'ning   glance   and   beetling   brow, 
That  comes  with  bloodshot  eye  to  dart 
A  chill  of  terror  through  my  heart? 
Thy  tears  turn,  dripping,  into  blood 
That  stains  thy  front  with  crimson  flood. 
Away !    I  bear  thy  sight  with  pain, 
Nor  dare  to  break  my  peace  again. 
"Not  so,"  it  cries,  "I'll  ever  stay 
"Beside  thee  close,  each  hour,  each  clay, 
"And  when  the  grave  shall  yawn  at  last 
"I'll  still  be  near.     I  am  thy  Past." 


137 


AN    EPISODE. 


AN  EPISODE. 

Her  eyes  met  mine; 

I  saw  a  light,  half  smold'ring,  shine 

Within  their  dusk. 

I  hoped.     Cold  grew  her  glances  then 

And  seemed  to  speak  denial  when 

Her  eyes  met  mine. 

Had  it  but  seemed 

Or  had  I  in  some  fever  dreamed 

Her  eyes  spoke  love? 

Why  tremulous  her  voice  and  low, 

Why  seek  to  hide  her  cheeks'  red  glow, 

Had  it  but  seemed? 

She  turned  aside. 

'Tis  well  we're  given  wit  to  hide 

The  truth  within, 

Or  else  she  had  to  me  confessed 

The  love  she  stifled  in  her  breast 

And  turned  aside. 


138 


HOPE. 


HOPE. 


Out  somewhere  from  the  darkness  of  the  East 

Three  travelers  come; 
Content  in  what  they  fail  to  understand 
Each  moves  across  the  heat-veiled  desert  sand 
As  though  he  held  a  chart  within  his  hand ; 
Their  fervor,  by  each  hardship  but  increased, 

Makes  question  dumb. 


These,  strong  in  forceful  trust  of  some  strange 
power 

To  guide  aright, 

Oft  see  a  vision  fill  the  star-lit  wild 
Where  shine  the  features  of  the  Virgin,  mild; 
They  kneel  in  worship  to  the  king,  her  child, 
And  trembling  cry,  ere  comes  the  natal  hour, 

"Behold  the  light!" 


HOPE. 


Thus,   on  each  barren  life  there  shines  some 

star 

To  cheer  its  night, 
Some  force  deep  sprung  from  sources  that  will 

win 

Hearts  back  to  hope,  although  there  lies  within 
But  rotting  wrecks  of  glories  that  have  been. 
Thus  each  soul  through  the  darkness  finds  afar 
The  guiding  light. 


140 


THE   SIREN. 


THE  SIREN. 

Near  a  spot  where  the  voice  of  the  whispering 
pines 

Calls  low  to  the  drone  of  the  sea, 

Near  the  buoy  that  sways  to  the  turbulent  roll 

Of  the  surf  as  it  sweeps  o'er  the  crag-breasted 
shoal, 

There's  a  cabin,  a  tiny,  wee  bit  of  a  place 

That  drowsily  rests  in  the  cliff's  warm  em 
brace, 

And  the  world  may  not  trespass  within  the 
confines 

Of  its  poppy-flecked  fields  and  its  clustering- 
vines. 

There  is  life  in  the  breath  of  the  salt-laden 

spray 

That  drenches  the  rocks  at  its  feet, 
There  is  peace  in  the  song  of  the  sea,  gay  or 

grave, 
And  a  history  lies  in  the  froth  of  each  wave. 


141 


THE   SIREN. 


And  we,  of  the  world,  stand  aloof,  loath  to  go, 
Forgetting  awhile  the  unrest  that  we  know, 
Forgetting  the  power  that  we  bend  to  obey, 
Till  we  turn,  with  regret,   to  the  old  beaten 
way. 

Here's  the  infinite  peace  we  have  looked  for  so 

long, 

Here  is  life  freed  from  trammeling  care ; 
But  a  voice  from  afar  calls  with  mystical  force 
And  the  yearning  we  nourish  is  sapped  at  its 

source ; 

We  harken  no  more  to  the  soul's  plaintive  cry 
But  sink  back  'neath  the  spell  of  the  world's 

Lorelei. 
There's  no  rest  for  the  heart  that  has  thrilled  to 

the  song 
Of   the   siren   that   sings    in   the  hum   of   the 

throng. 


142 


TO   MY   PIPE. 


TO  MY  PIPE. 

Come   down,   old   fellow!   with   shame-bowed 

head 

I  take  you  up  from  your  dusty  bed; 
I  feel  regret  and  a  just  remorse, 
And  blame  myself  and  my  vapid  course, 
That  I,  the  dolt,  could  have  put  you  by 
For  a  maiden's  wish  and  a  maiden's  sigh. 

Come  down,  old  fellow !  we  meet  again ; 
To-day  is  not  what  the  day  was,  when 
I  thrust  you  back  in  the  shadows,  dim, 
In  deference  to  a  woman's  whim. 
No  wondrous  maid  that  the  world  e'er  knew 
Could  chain  a  man  to  her  heart  like  you. 

Come  down,  old  fellow!  What,  friend!  think 

you 

That  any  one,  now,  could  part  us  two? 
What  fervid  kisses  from  scarlet  lips 
Could  thrill  me  thus  to  my  fingers  tips  ? 
Dear,  brown,  old  fellow,  I  bless  the  sprite 
That  gave  me  freedom,  and  you,  to-night. 


143 


THE    ROSE. 


THE  ROSE. 


Light  from  rubies,  caught  and  held 
In  each  petal.     From  its  bosom 
Sweet,  seductive  perfume  welled. 

Careless,  winged  a  butterfly, 
Passes  near  the  siren's  beauty, 
Loiters,   trembles — flutters  by. 

Wheeling  on  uncertain  wing 
Back  he  flies,  now  unresisting — - 
Back  to  woo;  to  love;  to  cling'. 

He,  replete  with  love,  ne'er  guessed, 
Yesterday  the  bee  was  fondled 
Close  within  that  scarlet  breast, 

That  to-morrow  would  be  heard, 
Not  unwillingly,  the  pleading 
Of  impassioned  humming-bird. 


144 


WHAT  KING? 


WHAT  KING? 

What  king  have  we  to-day;   the  one   whose 

blood 

Dark-stained  the  aspen  cross  of  Calvary 
That   man    might    be   regenerate   through    its 

flood  ? 

Or  build  we  temples  underneath  His  stars 

For  worship  of  the  hour's  divinity 

And  bend  the  knee  to  Plutus,  Bel,  and  Mars  ? 

Each  glade  an  altar  hides,  each  rock  a  shrine, 
Rare  insense  swings  to  Venus,  as  of  old, 
Through  cannon's  mouth  is  Odin  spake  divine. 

Great     Bacchus    still    beneath     his    vine    sits 

crowned 

Dispensing  comfort  to  these  followers 
On  whom  all  other  oracles  have  frowned. 

Unstable  as  the  gods  to  whom  they  pray 

Men    kneel,    low-bowed;    each    dawn    comes 

questioning, 

"What  king  does  man  go  forth  to  crown  to 
day?" 


145 


THE    POPPY. 


THE  POPPY. 


Once  a  poppy  grew 
(If  the  tale  be  true) 
On  a  hillside  bare; 
And  two  wooers  bold 
For  her  heart  of  gold 
Fought  a  battle  there. 

Now,  the  Sun  and  Dew 
Were  the  good  knights  true 
Of  this  fickle  one; 
And  with  lance  of  light 
Put  the  Dew  to  flight, 
Did  Sir  Knight,  the  Sun. 

Then  the  victor  passed 
With  the  day>  at  last, 
To  his  home  and  rest. 


146 


THE   POPPY. 


And  the  vanquished  lay 

In  the  twilight  gray 

On  the  loved  one's  breast. 


When  a  new  clay  dawned, 
Though  her  lovers  fawned, 
She  was  coy  and  shy 
And  she  looked  far  down 
On  the  distant  town 
With  a  longing  eye. 

"Could  I  feel  and  know 
All  its  life  and  show 

'Twould  be  sweet,  in  truth. 
Like  an  answered  prayer 
She  was  carried  there 
By  a  careless  youth. 

Then  the  sun  went  down 
On  the  hill  and  town, 
And  the  poppy  sweet, 
Lay  all  soiled  and  torn, 
All  forgot,  forlorn, 
On    the  crowded   street. 


147 


THE   POPPY. 


Then  the  dew  came  down 
On  the  hill  and  town, 
But  the  poppy,  tossed 
In  the  swirl  and  strife 
Of  a  larger  life 
Had  been  crushed  and  lost. 


148 


LOVE  S    SPAN. 


LOVE'S  SPAN. 

The  fleecy  clouds  in  the  heavens  high 
Beneath  the  light  of  an  opal  sky 

Showed  tints  of  morn; 
The  blush  that  over  the  landscape  lay 
Spoke  tender  hopes  for  a  glorious  day, 

When  love  was  born. 

The  sun's  caress  woke  the  slumb'ring  glade 
And  turned  the  light  to  a  deeper  shade 

On  brook  and  mound, 
No  sign  betrayed  in  the  glowing  west 
The  storm-cloud  trembling  with  dark  unrest, 

When  love  was  crowned. 

The   world   was   hushed   when   the   sun   went 

down ; 
It  left  the  sky  'neath  its  threat' ning  frown 

An  angry  red, 

And  hope  went  out  with  the  dying  light 
As  day  gave  place  to  a  starless  night — 

When  love  was  dead. 


149 


BESIDE    THE    BIER. 


BESIDE  THE  BIER. 

Poor,  cold,   dead  face;  poor  lips  that  weakly 

part, 

Irresolute,  unchanged.     The  tear-drops  start 
And  shame  the  angry  sorrow  at  my  heart. 

Before  they  came,  before  the  word  was  said, 
Before  the  watchers  hovering  round  your  bed 
Were  yet  aware,  I  knew  that  you  were  dead. 

How?  How  do  captives  know  their  chains  are 
gone  ? 

How  know  the  wounded  that  the  barb's  with 
drawn  ? 

How  does  the  darkness  know  of  coming  dawn  ? 

You  were  the  millstone  of  uncertain  fate; 
Down,  inch  by  inch,  I  sunk  beneath  the  weight 
Till  I  was  crushed,  despairing,  desolate. 

I  do  not  blame.     If,  from  eternity, 

You  may  look  back,  I  hope  that  it  will  be 

To  learn  how  much  you  might  have  been  to  me. 


150 


THE  ROSE  OF  MONTEREY. 


THE  ROSE  OF  MONTEREY. 


This  the  story :     In  a  valley 
Steeped  within  perpetual  sunshine, 
In  a  tropic,  sun-kissed  valley 
Dwells  a  dark-eyed  senorita : 
Traces  still  of  regal  beauty 
Lie  upon  her  aged  features. 

Long  ago  the  wand' ring  sunlight 
In  its  course  o'er  dell  and  river, 
Ling'ring  near  the  land  of  roses, 
Saw  a  sad  and  bitter  parting, 
Saw  a  tender  heart  grow  heavy 
With  uncertain  premonition, 
Saw  bright  eyes  unused  to  weeping 
Dimmed  with  tears  they  could  not  master. 
"I  will  soon  return,"  he  whispered, 
"  'Wait  me  here,  I'll  not  forget  you; 
"Take  this  pure-white  rose  and  plant  it 
"  'Neath  the  shadow  of  vour  window, 


151 


THE    ROSE    OF    MONTEREY. 


"Let  it  be  the  sacrecl  emblem 
"Of  the  love  we  hold  and  cherish; 
"When  you  see  its  first  fair  blossom, 
"When  you  smell  its  sweet,  faint  perfume 
"I  shall  be  here  close  beside  you, 
"Hold  you  in  my  arms  and  kiss  you, 
"Evermore  we'll  be  together." 
With  these  words  he  turned  and  left  her, 
Left  her  to  her  hopes  and  longings, 
To  her  dreams  and  sweet  illusions. 


Many  years  the  glowring  sunshine 
Has  been  seen  upon  the  sun  dial; 
Many  years  the  rose  has  blossomed ; 
Many  years  its  subtle  fragrance 
Has  been  known  to  summer  zephyrs, 
And  the  dark-eyed  senorita 
Tends  it — hoping,  trusting,  waiting. 
But,  'tis  said,  the  waxen  petals 
Pure  and  faultless  in  their  beauty, 
White  at  first,  as  any  moonbeam, 
Now  lie  red  beneath  the  sunshine, 
Faultless  still,  but  red  as  rubies, 
Red  as  blood  that  marks  the  pulse-beat 
In  the  heart  of  one  forsaken. 


152 


IN    LOTUS    LAND. 


IN  LOTUS  LAND. 

Let  me  live  within  my  dreams; 
The  joys  I  know 
From  shadows  grow; 
Transient  lights  from  nothing  burning 
Back  to  nothing  swift  returning; 
Life  can   hold   no   happiness   like   that   which 
seems. 

Let  me  love  and  then  forget; 

Each  vintage  sip 

With  careless  lip; 

Drain  the  cup  and  then  destroy  it, 

Hold  no  memories  to  cloy  it; 

I  would  have  no  dark  remorse  to  chill  and  fret. 

Let  me  keep  my  altar  fires 

Bright     with     incense     from     elusive,     vague 

desires — 
Flames  well  fed; 
Flouting  fate,  cajoling  sorrow, 
Heedless  if  a  sad  to-morrow 
Find  me  dead. 


153 


0,-THc 

UNIVERSITY 


TO    JESSICA. 


TO  JESSICA. 

True  to  my  soul  as  the  steel  to  the  pole 
You  have  been  to  me  ever. 
Evil  has  thrilled  me 
And  sorrow  has  chilled  me 
Grief  and  regret  for  a  wasted  life  filled  me; 
You  have  been  near  me 
To  comfort,  to  cheer  me, 
Bound  firm  and  fast  by  a  tie  none  can  sever. 
Close  to  my  soul. 

When  we  are  dead  and  the  last  word  is  said 
We  will  still  be  together. 
Fear  that  Tel  lose  you 
Has  made  me  abuse  you, 
Sully  your  life  that  your  God  might  accuse 

you; 

Sin  has  engrossed  you 
And  Heaven  has  lost  you 
That  I  might  have  you  and  hold  you  forever, 
Living  or  dead. 


154 


WHICH   DOES   NOT   MATTER   TO   YOU. 


WHICH  DOES  NOT  MATTER  TO  YOU. 


A  youth  swore  love  for  a  maiden  fair, 

(Which  does  not  matter  to  you), 
He  placed  a  rose  in  her  auburn  hair 
And  laid  his  head  on  her  shoulder  fair 
And  promised  freedom  from  every  care, 
(Which  does   not  matter  to  you.) 

And  like  the  tale  of  a  minstrel's  rhyme, 

(Which  does  not  matter  to  you), 

He  left  his  home  for  a  certain  time 

And  sought  for  wealth  in  a  foreign  clime 

And  found  it — owned  by  a  maid  sublime, 

(Which  does  not  matter  to  you). 

And  time  went  on  just  as  time  will  do, 

(Which  does  not  matter  to  you), 
The  maiden  wept  for  a  day  or  two 
Because  her  lover  had  proved  untrue 


155 


WHICH  DOES  NOT  MATTER  TO  YOU. 


Then  patched  her  heart  with  connubial  glue, 
(Which  does  not  matter  to  you). 


And  after  that  the  report  was  spread, 
(Which  does  not  matter  to  you), 
That  youth  and  maid  put  in  earthy  bed 
The  cold  remains  of  their  spouses  dead 
And  hid  a  smile  with  the  tears  they  shed, 
(Which  does  not  matter  to  you). 


Above  the  graves  they  had  met  again, 
(Which  does  not  matter  to  you), 

They  whispered  things  about  "might  have 
been" 

Which  I  consider  a  cardinal  sin 

Remembering  the  place  they  were  talking  in, 
(Which  does  not  matter  to  you). 


And  then,  one  day,  it  was  told  to  me, 
(Which  does  not  matter  to  you), 

These  twain  were  one ;  now  they  both  agree 

That  "Was"  was  nearer  felicity 

Than  "Is,"  and  sigh  for  the  "Used  To  Be," 
(Which  does  not  matter  to  you). 


156 


THE    PAST. 


And  thus  it  is  with  the  things  we  crave, 

(Which  maybe  matters  to  you), 
We  fret  and  worry  and  toil  and  slave 
We  reach  and  struggle,  and  terrors  brave, 
Then  scorn  the  object  our  efforts  gave, 
Which  is  very  much  like  you. 


THE  PAST. 


The  past?     Ah,  question  not,  dear  love, 

Nor  jealous  be; 
The  past  was  but  a  time  when  I 

Awaited  thee. 
Ask  not  to  have  the  present  chilled 

By  retrospect ; 
The  past  was  but  a  rock  submerged 

Where  hopes  were  wrecked. 
The  past  was  but  a  fretful  time 

In  which  I  grew, 
By  sorrow's  scourge,  a  helpful  mate 

And  fit  for  you. 


157 


THE  VOICE   OF    NATURE. 


THE  VOICE  OF  NATURE. 


From  the  flush  of  strange  beginning  beauty  on 

the  earth  has  lain, 
Glorified  in  flaming  sunset,   fairy-gemmed  in 

crystal   rain, 
Lessons,  rare,  of  radiant  splendor  are  in  wild 

profusion  shown 
While  we  gaze  in  big-eyed  wonder  like  to  babes 

in  dumbness  grown. 


Dormant  standing,  deep-enamored  of  the  spell, 

with  senses  swooned, 
Keenly  strung  to  vibrant  music  only  heard  of 

hearts  attuned, 
Helpless  in  our  deep  emotion,  speechless  where 

we  would  reveal, 
Vain  the  fettered  tongue  endeavors  to  portray 

the  thing  we  feel. 


158 


THE    VOICE    OF    NATURE. 


Frail  we  are  in  understanding  when  our  sleep 
ing  souls  awake, 

Conscious  of  but  futile  effort  through  the  halt 
ing  flights  we  take. 

Masterful  the  changing  story  told  in  yellow 
leaf  and  sear, 

Wondrous  is  the  swelling  anthem  known  to 
him  who  will  but  hear. 


Call  him  sculptor  who  in  marble  clothes  the 

song  his  heart  has  heard, 
Call  him  poet  who  from  Nature  has  preserved 

one  throbbing  word, 
Each  attempts  to  paint  the  glory  of  the  thing 

as  it  is  shown 
But  he  ever  mars  the  picture  by  crude  touches 

of  his  own. 


TO    TOMBSTONE   II. 


TO  TOMBSTONE  II. 

(THE  PRESS  CLUB'S  CAT.) 

Thy   gaze,   transfixed,    disdains   my   presence, 

small, 

And  lingers  on  creations  of  thine  own ; 
The  twitching  of  thy  lip  betrays  the  strange 
And  startling  wonders  of  thy  retrospect. 
Perchance   these    walls    give   place    to    jungle 

briars, 

And  curious  gapers  turn  to  hunted  prey? 
Perchance  within  thy  reminiscent  brain 
Lurk  dreams  of  summer  nights  when  stealthy 

forms 

Cast  undulating  shadows  'neath  the  moon? 
I  think  'tis  so ;  despite  thy  stolid  mien, 
A  sudden  light  burns  green  within  thine  eyes, 
Ferocious  hate  leaps  high  as  thought  recalls 
How  mortal  cunning"  wrought  thine  impotence. 
By  means  unworthy  living  thing,  save  man, 
They   have   thee   caged,   and    harmless,   by   a 

trick. 


160 


TO    TOMBSTONE    II. 


They  took  thy  body  captive,  but  thy  pride 
Remains  thine  own,  and  clothes  thy  haughty 

form 

In  solemn  garb  of  peerless  majesty. 
I  gaze  at  thee  and  feel  my  littleness, 
And  slink  away,  ashamed  that  man  presumes 
From  his  conceit,  to  call  himself  thy  lord. 


161 


DREAMS. 


DREAMS. 


Lips  there  are  that  crave  the  touch  of  lips  they 

may  not  press, 
That  laugh  above  the  heart's  dead  weight  of 

hopeless  weariness, 
That  sometimes  paler  grow  beneath  the  starved 

soul's  futile  cry 
And  tremble  with  the   fervor  of  desires  that 

will  not  die. 


Hands,  there  are,  press  other  hands  but  love's 
wild  thrill  is  dead, 

Lips  speak  to  lips,  but  hearts  no  more  are 
reached  by  what  is  said, 

There  come  fleet  dreams,  like  transient  mist, 
of  joys  that  fate  withholds, 

And  longings  of  such  bitter  pain  that  hopeless 
ness  consoles. 


RETROSPECTUS. 


No  rose  so  red  but  fragrance  from  one  redder 

blows  afar, 
No  night   so   fair  but   that   another   shows   a 

brighter  star, 
Old  wines   we  crave  but  old  love  sometimes 

fails  the  one  athirst ; 
No  virtue  breathes  in  constancy  when  vagrant 

dreams  are  nursed. 


RETROSPECTUS. 


Live  not  in  musty  retrospect,  but  try 
To  find  the  rift  within  the  clouded  sky, 
And  let  the  cold,  'dead  past  in  shadow  lie — 

Lot's  wife  looked  back. 

Come,   pour   libations,   bid  the   minstrel  play, 
To-day  shall  question  not  of  yesterday, 
To-morrow  shall  know  nothing  of  to-day. 


163 


WHO    PAYS? 


WHO  PAYS? 


Who  is  it  that  pays 

For  the  words  that  are  uttered  in  careless  jest, 

For  the  vows  that  are  soon  forgotten, 

For  happiness  stirring  the  vagrant  breast, 

For  the  slight  of  the  lips  that  wereoncecaressed, 

For  the  unfulfilled  hopes  and  the  sad  delays? 

Some  one  pays ! 

Who  is  it  that  pays 

For  the  faith  that  is  held  at  the  joyous  start 

Of  a  love  that  is  quickly  ended? 

Who  dreams  that  the  debt  of  a  truant  heart 

Will  not  have  to  be  met,  in  its  smallest  part, 

Will  but  find  that  whenever  the  piper  plays 

Some  one  pays. 

Who  is  it  that  pays 

For  the  glitter  and  sparkle  of  Vanity  Fair. 

For  the  pomp  and  the  vulgar  showing? 


164 


WHO    PAYS? 


One  half  of  the  world  must  their  muscles  bare 
That  a  few  of  the  favored  may  feel  no  care — 
For  their  languorous  nights  and  their  useless 

days, 
Some  one  pays. 

Who  is  it  that  pays 

When  the  'frighted  hills  echo  a  battle  cry 

And  strange  dew  on  the  grass  is  shining? 

A  trumpet  of  death  is  a  monarch's  sigh, 

But  new  subjects  are  born  while  the  old  ones 

die. 

Be  it  he  who  is  slain  or  the  one  who  slays 
Some  one  pays. 


165 


RECOMPENSE. 


RECOMPENSE. 


Before  me  dead  you  lie;  your  still,  white  face, 

Impassive  neath  my  glance, 
Lies  strangely  patient  in  its  resting  place, 

Nor  marks  the  night's  advance. 

Alone,  we  two;  no  ling'ring  pulse-throbs  start 

Or  quiver  at  my  touch. 
I  could  not  hold  such  hate  within  my  heart 

Had  I  not  loved  so  much. 

I'd  gladly  die  could  I  but  break  your  rest 

And  bring  you  back  to  men, 
That  I  might  plunge  this  dagger  in  your  breast 

And  watch  you  die  again. 


A   PARADOX. 


A  PARADOX. 


Had  you  listened  when  I  pleaded, 
Had  you  paused  or  hesitated 
Or  one  wish  of  mine  conceded, 
Had  a  wave  of  weakness  crossed  you- 
Had  you  yielded — I  had  lost  you. 

Yours  was  not  an  easy  trial; 
Evermore  I'll  hold  you  dearer 
For  your  words  of  proud  denial; 
Had  your  duty  less  engrossed  you, 
You  were  mine  and  I  had  lost  you. 

In  the  dead  and  sodden  embers 
Where  lie  passions  long  forgotten, 
Such  a  love  a  man  remembers. 
'Mid  the  ruins  lying  scattered 
Stands  one  idol  still  tin  shattered. 


167 


A    SPANISH    SERENADE. 


A  SPANISH  SERENADE. 


Come  to  thy  casement,  love,  let  me  behold  thee ; 
Night  will  be  sweeter,  far,  if  thou  but  linger 

near. 
Soft    sings    the    nightingale,    sings    near    thy 

window, 

Telling  his  mate  of  love,  passionate,  sincere. 
Queen  of  my  life,  let  me  repeat  his  story, 
Close  not  thy  heart,  O,  do  not  turn  away, 
Bid  me  but  hope,  'twill  fill  the  night  with  glory ; 
Be  thou  my  queen,  let  me,  thy  slave,  obey. 


Love  is  an  ember  that  we  should  keep  glowing; 

Do  not  destroy  the  spark  from  which  the  flame 
is  feel, 

For  naught  shall  give  it  life  once  it  has  per 
ished, 

E'en  lips  like  thine  can  not  revive  it  when  'tis 
dead. 


168 


LOVE'S    ENEMY. 


Then   fill  the  time  with  joys   for   which   I'm 

sighing; 

Close  in  thine  arms  my  exile  I'd  forget, 
Give  me  thy  lips,  no  sweets  they  hold  denying. 
Lest  in  some  sad  tomorrow  we  regret. 

There's   not   a   flower  but   knows   the   love    I 

cherish, 

There's  not  a  breeze  but  whispers,  dear,  of  thee, 
Come,  pluck  the  rose  of  life,  now,  ere  it  perish ; 
Share  thou  its  rich  perfume,  this  night,  with  me. 


LOVE'S  ENEMY. 

Tnvulner'ble  my  armor  is," 

Dan  Cupid  proudly  said ; 
Doubt  heard,  quick  loosed  a  poisoned  dart 

And  little  Love  fell  dead. 


169 


'GIVE!  GIVE!" 


"GIVE !    GIVE !" 


The  cry  of  need,  and  the  cry  of  greed, 

Is  the  cry  that  is  heard  afar, 

Is  the  cry  that  has  run  since  the  world  was 

begun 
From  the  ether-rimmed  earth  to  the  governing 

sun 

And  has  trembled  from  star  to  star; 
The  unequal  strife  in  the  struggle  for  life 
Has  embittered  the  upright  soul, 
And  the  god  of  the  purse  is  the  god  that  we 

curse, 
While  we  bow  to  him,  hip  and  jowl. 

This  cry  is  hurled  round  a  purse-proud  world. 

Nor  is  hushed  by  the  helping  hand. 

Who  relieves  those  in  need  for  the  love  of  the 

deed 

Coaxes  censure  like  that  for  a  singular  creed 
We  come  never  to  understand. 
The  cry  that  will  live  is  the  fierce  cry  of  "Give!" 
Hear  the  multiple  echoes  roll ! 


170 


'GIVE!  GIVE!" 


Though  the  god  of  the  purse  is  the  god  that 

we  curse, 
Yet  we  bow  to  him,  hip  and  jowl. 

This  cry  upraised  to  the  god  that's  praised 

Is  unchecked  by  the  touch  of  death, 

And    the    soft    word    that    slips    through    the 

child's  coaxing  lips 
Is  the  word  that  is  voiced  by  the  wanton  who 

strips 

With  the  blight  of  her  vampire  breath. 
The  loves  that  we  know  and  the  follies  we  show 
Are  forgiven,  if  full  the  bowl; 
Though  the  god  of  the  purse  is  the  god  that 

we  curse, 
Yet  we  bow  to  him,  hip  and  jowl. 


171 


WHEN    PASSES    THE    FLAME. 


WHEN  PASSES  THE  FLAME. 


Today  you  are  most  kind, 
But  kindness,  now,  seems  only  anger's  cloak; 
Your  looks  are  gentle  yet  I  fail  to  find 
That  joy  they  once  awoke. 

Today  you  clasp  my  hand 

And  speak  soft  nothings  in  my  passive  ear; 

I  listen  but  I  do  not  understand; 

My  heart  has  failed  to  hear. 

True  love  will  not  abide 
Where  inclination  has  to  custom  grown, 
And  now  when  thus  you  linger  at  my  side 
I  am  as  one  alone. 

The  ember,  lying  gray, 
May  be  revived  although  its  flame  be  sped, 
But  who  of  mortal  man  can  find  the  way 
To  fire  the  spark  that  's  dead? 


172 


ON    THE   LITTLE  SANDY. 


ON  THE  LITTLE  SANDY. 


Just  within  the  mystic  border  of  Kentucky's 

blue  grass  region 
There's  a  silver  strip  of  river  lying  idly  in  the 

sun, 
On  its  banks  are  beds  of  fragrance  where  the 

butterflies  are  legion 
And  the  moonbeams  frame  its  glory  when  the 

summer  day  is  done. 

There's  a  little,  rose-wreathed  cottage  nestling 
close  upon  its  border 

Where  a  tangled  mass  of  blossoms  half  con 
ceals  an  open  door, 

There's  a  sweet,  narcotic  perfume  from  a  gar 
den's  wild  disorder, 

And  the  jealous  poppies  cluster  where  its  kisses 
thrill  the  shore. 

From  across  its  dimpled  bosom  comes  the  half- 
hushed,  careful  calling 


173 


ON    THE   LITTLE   SANDY. 


Of  a  whippporwill  whose  lonely  heart  is  long 
ing  for  his  mate, 

And   the   sun   aslant  the  sleepy   eyes   of   fox 
gloves  gently   falling- 
Tells  the  fisherman  out  yonder  that  the  hour 
is  growing  late. 


From  the  branches  of  the  poplars  a  spasmodic 

sleepy  twitter 
Comes,  'twould  seem,  in  careless  answer  to  the 

pleading  of  a  song, 
And    perhaps    the   tiny    bosom    holds    despair 

that's  very  bitter 
For  his  notes  are  soon  unheeded  by  the  little 

feathered  throng. 


Then  the  twilight  settling  denser  shows  a  rush 
light  dimly  burning — • 

Ah,  how  well  I  know  the  landing  drowsing 
'neath  its  feeble  beams, 

And  my  homesick  heart  to  menrries  of  the 
yesterday  is  turning 

\Yhile  I  linger  here,  forgotten,  with  no  solace 
but  mv  dreams. 


174 


IF  YOU    HAD    KNOWN. 


IF  YOU  HAD  KNOWN. 


If  you  had  known 

That  'neath  my  glance  indifferent,  the  seeds 

Of  love  were  sown, 

Would  you  so  brief  have  held 

My  proffered  hand 

Within  your  own? 


If  you  had  guessed 

The  thrill  of  passion  that  your  touch  awoke. 

Would  you  have  pressed 

My  hand  in  careless  mood, 

Or  clasped  me  close 

Unto  your  breast? 


175 


THE   BURDEN. 


THE  BURDEN. 


Within  the  temple  purple  windows  threw 
Their  solemn  light  athwart  the  silent  aisles, 
And  lengthening  shadows  into  twilight  grew; 
Still  Zarick  knelt,  unwilling  to  depart, 
So  heavy  was  the  sorrow  at  his  heart. 

"Great  Oracle,"  he  cried,  "behold  my  grief, 
"I  sink  beneath  the  burden  of  my  life; 
"O,  guide  me  to  some  haven  of  relief. 
"No  man  of  woman  born  can  know  the  stress 
"That  I  endure  from  utter  wretchedness." 


"Go  search  the  world,"  a  solemn  voice  replied, 
"And  give  thy  life  in  full  exchange  for  one 
"That  thou  may'st  choose;  thou  shall  not  be 

denied." 

In  fervent  thanks  he  lifted  up  his  voice, 
And  joyfully  went  forth  to  make  his  choice. 


176 


THE   BURDEN. 


The  Eastern  sun  full  many  seasons  rolled 
Across  the  spice-breathed  air  of  Orient  shores ; 
Full  many  months  the  temple  bells  were  tolled, 
Yet  Zarick  came  not ;  then,  one  solemn  night 
An  old  man  knelt  beneath  the  altar  light. 


"Great  One,"  he  said,  "I've  searched  through 

hut  and  hall, 
"And  found  no  man  untouched  by   sorrow's 

breath ; 

"My  burden  was  the  lightest  of  them  all ; 
"No  space  overlooked,  no  road  but  I  have  trod 
"And  all  have  suffered,  all  have  kissed  the  rod." 


177 


JOHN  BRADFORD'S  PRAYER. 


JOHN   BRADFORD'S  PRAYER. 


John  Bradford  stood  at  the  entrance  gate  of 

a  jail  in  Ludlow  Square; 
He  saw  a  man  led  forth  to  die,  and  he  offered 

up 'a  prayer. 

He  offered  up,   for  himself,  a  prayer,  as  but 

pious  people  can 
Who  follow  rules  of  the  cloth  and  creed,  did 

this  conscientious  man. 

He  offered  up  for  himself  a  prayer  'neath  the 

archway  drear  and  dim, 
And  thanked  the  Lord  that  another  man  was 

to  die  instead  of  him. 

He   used    the    harassing   circumstance    of   the 

checkered  life  near  run 
To  call  to  notice  his  godliness,  and  to  draw 

comparison. 


178 


JOHN   BRADFORD  S   PRAYER. 


He  laid  the  list  of  his  Christian  deeds  in  the 

Master-Hand  on  high, 
But  not  a  word  was  there  said  for  him  who 

was  going  forth  to  die 

He  prayed  so  much  of  his  own  affairs,   and 

they  took  so  long  to  tell, 
The  hangman's  key  to  the  great  unknown  set 

ajar  the  gates  of  hell. 

And  thus  a  soul  sped  its  way  unchecked  by  an 

interceding  prayer, 

While  Bradford  muttered  his  mummery,  to  his 
God,  in  L,udlow  Square. 


179 


LOVE  S    FALLACIES. 


LOVE'S  FALLACIES. 


It  is  not  in  the  blare  of  the  noonday  glare 
That  the  red  of  the  wine  invites; 

We  must  borrow  the  grace  of  the  time  and  place 
To  give  color  to  soft  delights. 

It  is  not  in  the  heat  of  the  crowded  street 
That  we  seek  for  the  shaded  pool, 

We  would  travel  in  vain  o'er  the  burning  plain 
For  the  gush  of  the  fountain  cool. 

Eyes  that  seem  to  us  bright  by  the  candle's  light 
May  but  commonplace  be  and  dim, 

And  the  lips  we  think  red  have  their  beauty 

sped 
When  removed  from  the  glass's  rim. 

Though  we  know  that  the  smile  which  we  hold 

awhile 
Is  but  dross  of  a  base  alloy, 


180 


MY    PLEA. 


Yet  we  marry  false  sighs  to  unblushing  lies 
And  then  christen  the  offspring  "Joy." 

But,  O,  never  believe  that  we  once  deceive 

Or  once  satisfy,  e'en  in  part 
By  the  shadows  that  pass  with  the  empty  glass, 

The  deep  call  of  the  yearning  heart. 


MY  PLEA. 


When  God's  good  angel  sadly  questions  me 
As  to  my  fitness  for  eternity, 
I'll  say  you  loved  me,  and  when  that  is  done 
My  sins  will  be  forgiven,  and  heaven  won. 


181 


A    PICTURE. 


A  PICTURE. 


Gray  the  sky ;  the  earth  was  gray ; 
Smoke  from  sacrificial   altar. 
Darkly  heavy,  trailed  away. 

Near  the  shrine  a  woman  stood, 
And,  as  insense  to  Ambition, 
Burned  the  wealth  of  womanhood. 

Desolate  to  heart  and  eye ; 
Not  a  trace  of  color  trembled 
'Neath  the  grayness  of  the  sky. 

*  >!<  #  *  #  * 

Near  the  work  the  artist  stood. 
"What  is  this,"  at  last  I  ask  her, 
"Why  portray  such  solemn  mood?" 

Stilling  then  an  inward  strife, 
With  dispassion  born  of  patience, 
"This,"  she  answers,  "is  my  life." 


182 


A*  PICTURE. 


In  my  glance  deep  passion  glows. 
And  upon  the  sacred  altar 
Quick  I  paint  a  scarlet  rose. 

Long  the  rose  of  scarlet  lay 
On  the  altar  of  Ambition, 
Flushing  red  the  sky  of  gray. 

Tired,  one  day,  and  callous  grown, 
She,  with  brush  annihilating, 
Gave  Ambition  back  its  own. 

But  the  cruel  hand,  'tis  said 
Hesitating  in  its  firmness. 
Left  behind  a  blush  of  red. 


183 


THE  ROAD  OF   A   GREAT  DESIRE. 


THE  ROAD  OF  A  GREAT  DESIRE. 


There  are  bridges,   once  crossed,   that   'twere 

wise  to  burn 

On  the  road  of  A  Great  Desire, 
There  are  havens  of  rest  that  'twere  well  to 

spurn, 

There's  the  touch  of  a  hand  we  may  not  return; 
Place  all  longings,  save  one,  on  Ambition's  pyre 
Ye  who  travel  the  road  of  A  Great  Desire. 


There  are  faces  so  young  and  with  hearts  so 

old 

On  the  road  of  A  Great  Desire, 
In  their  eyes  lie  the  shadows  of  hopes  untold; 
Though  the  pulses  beat  swift  yet  the  blood  is 

cold, 

For  they  know  but  the  lust  of  Ambition's  fire 
They  that  travel  the  way  of  A  Great  Desire. 


184 


LOVE'S    RECOMPENSE. 


There's    a    shrine   bathed    in    warmth    of    the 

world's  caress 

On  the  road  of  A  Great  Desire, 
It  is  reached  through  the  valley  of  Weariness 
And  the  god  of  the  temple  is  called  Success ; 
Lay  the  dreams  you  have  known  on  its  altar  fire 
Ye  who've  traveled  the  way  of  A  Great  Desire. 


LOVE'S  RECOMPENSE. 


The  angry  billows  lash  the  seam-marked  face 
Of  yonder  whitening,  bleak,  sea-girdled  rock; 
A  thousand  storms  have  swept  its  rugged  form ; 
It  stands  impervious  to  stress  and  shock. 

No  jagged  hurt  that  ever  scarred  its  sides 
But  seemed  a  privilege,  made  doubly  blest. 
Were  it  endured  to  shield  the  cherished  life 
Of  that  frail  lichen  clinging  to  its  breast. 


185 


TO    MY    BOOKS. 


TO  MY  BOOKS. 


Old  friends,  your  pardon.      I   am  come  again 
Back  from  the  social  littleness  of  men 
Contrite  and  deeply  shamed  that  I  was  hired 
And  roundly  punished  by  the  pain  endured. 

From  out  some  vanity  of  mine  it  grew, 
Dread  wastes  of  empty  words  I've  floundered 

through, 

Deceived  in  false  supports  at  which  I  caught, 
To  sink  at  last  'neath  seas  of  vacuous  thought. 

If  mental  suffering  can  shrive  the  sin 

Of  seeking  social  paths  to  wander  in 

Then  1  was  blameless  scarce  the  way  was  won 

And  stood  forgiv'n,  with  every  penance  done. 

How  peaceful  here :    You  stand  in  silent  row 
Reflecting  back  the  firelight's  genial  glow 


186 


TO    MY   BOOKS. 


In  wealth  of  welcome  you  so  well  express 
Which  not  to  feel  would  be  to  love  you  less. 

No  more,  old  friends.     I  know  man  tends  to 

good 

'Neath  mem'ry  of  fresh  sufferings  withstood, 
And  scarce  I  blame  you  that  you  wink  and  leer 
At  one  who  sought  the  world  when  you  were 

near. 


1ST 


LOVE'S  VICTORY. 


"I  want  you  to  hold  me  and  prize  me  again, 
"Why  spurn  me  now?''  Love  cried. 

"I  go  to  lay  siege  to  the  Castle  of  Fame, 
"Where  you  may  not  abide." 

With  sweet,  curly  head  bowed  in  petulant  grief, 

With  bright  eyes  filling  fast, 
He  saucily  said,  "Though  you  send  me  away, 

I'll  victor  be,  at  last." 

One  day,  from  the  heights  of  the  Castle  I  gazed 

O'er  hopes  that  used  to  be, 
O'er  years  that  were  dead ;  then  my  heavy  heart 
said, 

"Give  Love  the  victory." 


A    CAROL. 


A  CAROL. 


Sing,  thou,  with  all  thy  harmony  of  voice, 

Let  not  one  throat  be  dumb, 
Lift  up  thy  drooping  spirit  and  rejoice 

For  lo,  the  King  is  come ! 

Lay  all  thy  motives  bare;  beneath  the  sun 

His  scepter  is  thy  deeds, 
And  every  kind  and  generous  action  done 

His  throne  from  which  He  pleads. 

There's    joy    in    every    theme,    though    sadly 
shown  ; 

Man's  pity  did  but  gloss 
That  greatest  ecstasy  the  world  has  known, 

The  sorrow  of  the  cross. 

From  world  to  world  stirred  pulses  that  were 

still, 
Where  suns  had  ceased  to  shine; 


189 


A    CAROL. 


All  chaos  was,  'neath  that  melodious  thrill, 
Made  cosmic  and  divine. 

No  distant  space  that  failed  to  understand 

This  passion  of  the  Lord, 
Futurity  was  circled  by  His  hand 

In  one  great  master-chord. 

Sing !  Sing !  Through  all  the  morning  of  thy 
life, 

And  sing  to  greet  its  night; 
He  finds  the  harmony  within  the  strife 

Who  reads  life's  score  aright. 

Learn  from  the  cognate  universe  thy  song; 

Thrice  blessed  he  who  hears 
And  understands  the  cadence  that  has  long 

Swung  rhythmic  round  the  spheres. 


190 


THE  VOYAGERS. 


THE  VOYAGERS. 


With  oars  at  rest,  content  to  drift,  and  dream, 
Responsive  swinging  where  each  current  sets, 
One  idles  clown  the  bosom  of  the  stream 
With  will  of  waves  no  issue  to  dispute, 
With  helm  long  dropped  from  hands  irresolute. 

Another  craft  upon  the  river  rides, 
Fast  sweeping  on  beneath  each  steady  stroke, 
With  helm  hard  set  against  the  changing  tides ; 
It  braves  the  tortured  night,  the  wind-swept  day, 
Forever  keeping  on   its  charted  way. 

To  float  among  the  lilies  near  the  shore. 

And    build    brave   plans    to    reach    the    harbor 

lights 

Should  danger  threaten  in  the  tempest's  roar, 
No  broken  oars,  no  muscles  strained  and  tired. 
Ah,  surely  this  were  way  to  be  desired. 


191 


IN    RETROSPECTION. 


A  cloud  o'ershades  the  red,  low-drooping  sun. 
Of  him  who  bared  his  strong  arms  to  the  work 
The  storm-gods  tell  that  port  was  bravely  won. 
Of  him  who  dreamed  and  drifted?  Ask  the 

night 
Where  now  the  mast  that  held  his  puny  light. 


IN  RETROSPECTION. 


Could  I  turn  back  all  the  leaves  of  life, 
Correct  the  blunders  and  soothe  the  strife; 
Could  I  blot  out  every  dark  deed  done, 
Make  good  each  triumph  unjustly  won; 
Could  I  live  free  from  the  faults  of  men, 
I  would  not.     Living  my  life  again, 
I'd  do  each  deed  as  I  did  it  then. 
This  life  were  surely  a  tiresome  page 
If  man,  arriving  at  sour  old  age, 
Have  nothing  braver  to  grace  his  bier 
Than  a  prudent  life  and  a  just  career. 


192 


DON'T  WORRY. 


DON'T  WORRY. 


Though    not    one    of    your    fanciful    schemes 
comes  to  light, 

Don't  you  worry; 

You  have  had  the  fond  pleasure  of  thinking 
they  might, 

So  don't  worry. 

Though   the  page   is   all   blotted   and  thumb- 
marked  and  torn, 
There's  a  God  up  above  who  has  seen  what 

you've  borne, 

And  who  tempers  the  wind  to  the  lamb  that  is 
shorn, 

So  don't  worry. 


Though  the  bauble  you  longed  for  looks  cheap 
in  your  hand, 

Don't  you  worry; 


193 


DON  T   WORRY. 


Though  you  sink  where  you  thought  it  was  all 

solid  land, 

Don't  you  worry. 
Like  the  baby,  you  see  the  sun's  glint  on  the 

wall, 
And  you  struggle  to  clasp  it — you  stumble,  and 

fall; 
Then  you  find  you  have  gathered  a  shadow— 

that's  all — 

But  don't  worry. 

Though  the  play  is  played  out  and  the  curtain's 
rung  down, 

Don't  you  worry  ; 

Though  the  features  of  life  wear  a  turbulent 
frown, 

Don't  you  worry. 
Though  the  other  man  wins,  and  you  lose,  in 

the  race, 
Don't  you  let  the  world  know;  put  a  smile  on 

your  face ; 

There  are  always  your  pistols  up  there  in  their 
case, 

So  don't  worry. 


194 


THE  PESSIMIST. 


THE  PESSIMIST. 


There  is  no  rose  on  the  broad,  bleak  earth 
Worth  the  labor  put  forth  to  raise  it; 
No  scarlet  mouth,  framed  in  dimpling  mirth, 
Worth  the  breath  that  it  takes  to  praise  it. 

There  is  no  song  like  the  one  that's  heard 
In  the  time  of  a  life's  beginning; 
No  woman's  love  worth  the  empty  word 
That  we  waste  in  its  useless  winning. 

There  is  no  day  with  its  sordid  strife 
Worth  the  serious  thought  we  give  it, 
No  passing  hour  in  a  careless  life 
Worth  the  trouble  it  takes  to  live  it. 

Yet  pluck  the  rose  while  you  chance  to  live, 
Hold  your  pleasures  as  you  may  find  them, 
Forget,  in  joys  that  those  reel  lips  give, 
The  grin  of  the  skull  behind  them. 


195 


TO-DAY'S    ROYALIST. 


TODAY'S  ROYALIST. 


I'd  like  to  have  lived  in  the  time  of  Queen  Bess, 

When  duels  and  battles  were  rife, 
When  swords  were  the  popular  form  of  redress, 

And  insults  were  paid  for  with  life; 
I'd  like  to  have  lived  when  the  commoner  dwelt 

Apart,  in  a  world  of  his  own; 
Have  died  ere  the  time  that  he  voiced  what  he 
felt 

And  placed  his  own  spawn  on  the  throne. 

I'd  like  to  have  felt  the  self-satisfied  thrill 

Unlimited  power  can  afford; 
I'd  like  to  have  lived  when  a  gentleman's  will 

Was  urged  at  the  point  of  his  sword, 
Instead  of  to-day  when  "Equality's"  rule 

Puts  "Rights"  in  the  mouths  of  the  clan, 
When  works  of  the  sage  can  be  jeered  by  the 
fool, 

When  master's  no  better  than  man. 


196 


TO-DAY  S    ROYALIST. 


I'd  like  to  have  lived  when  the  ermine  embraced 

None  other  than  royalty's  form; 
I'd  like  to  have  lived  before  caste  was  effaced 

Beneath   the  mob's  leveling  storm; 
I'd  like  to  have  lived  when  the  form  of  restraint 

Held  commonwealth  under  the  man, 
And  felt  what  it  was  to  be  free  from  the  taint 

Of  "Liberty's"  plebiscite  ban. 


197 


WOMAN. 


WOMAN. 


Believe  that  yonder  stony-hearted  shore 
Will  spare  the  ship  blown  thither  by  the  gale; 
Believe  there's  mildness  in  the  ocean's  roar 
And  gentleness  within  the  tempest's  wail ; 
Believe  that  tigers,  thirsting  after  blood, 
Belie  their  stripes  and  let  their  victims  go, 
But  ne'er  believe  when  comes  misfortune's  flood 
That  woman  will  to  woman  mercy  show. 


Wolves  fraternize  when  bent  upon  attack, 
Their  hunting  cry  holds  no  discordant  note, 
They  face  a  common  danger,  back  to  back 
Then,  true  to  nature,  tear  each  other's  throat; 
And  not  alone  on  heath  and  wooded  strip 
Does  this,  the  law  of  fang,  aggressive  loom ; 
Wolves,  wrapped  in  velvet,  rend  with  thirsting 

HP 

And  wage  their  wars  in  every  drawing  room. 


198 


WOMAN. 


To  breed  dissension  is  in  woman  born; 
But  some  this  primal  instinct  turn  aside, 
Affecting  charms  more  suited  to  adorn 
And  'neath  conceits  true  inclinations  hide. 
To  seem  the  thing  she's  not  is  woman's  care, 
No  soul  of  them  from  this  may  stand  exempt, 
And  none  to  be  her  own  true  self  may  dare 
Lest  she  be  named  an  object  of  contempt. 


Debarred  by  nature  from  those  rough  pursuits 
That  outlets  are  to  savagery,  each  turns 
To  rend  the  other,  recking  not  the  fruits 
Of  slander  and  the  consequence  it  earns. 
O,  sooner  will  be  found  the  drop  of  rain 
When  once  'tis  lost  within  the  river's  flow, 
O,  sooner  shall  the  hilltop  kiss  the  plain 
Than  woman  shall  to  woman  mercy  show. 


199 


THE   GRANDEST    THING. 


THE  GRANDEST  THING. 


When  hope  was  young  and  my  blood  ran  rife, 
When  homage  sweetened  the  cup  of  life 

And  pride  was  a  flame  well  fed, 
They  asked  me  what  was  the  grandest  thing 
That  life  could  hold  or  a  fortune  bring; 
As  quick  as  flashes  a  swallow's  wing 
"To  conquer  men,"  I  said. 


But  now  the  pale  of  the  after-glow 
Reflects  the  chastening  years  of  woe, 

Endurance  bows  my  head  ; 
"Come,  tell  us  now,  for  we  ask  again, 
The  grandest,  holiest  task  of  men," 
Submission  prompting,  where  pride  had  been — 
"To  conquer  self,"   I  said. 


200 


THE    PUNISHMENT. 


THE  PUNISHMENT. 


Ben  Omi  stood,  with  drooping  head, 
To  hear  the  final  judgment  read 
By  him  who  kept  the  record; 
The  accusations  'neath  his  name 
Recounted  deeds  for  serious  blame — 
A  thumb-marked  page  and  checkered. 

"Your  sins  are  great,"  the  angel  cried, 
"I  know  of  none  who  ever  died 
"So  quite  unfit  for  glory; 
"No  punishment  that  e'er  was  writ 
"Could  shrive  your  soul  and  make  it  fit 
"For  even  purgatory. 

"And  yet — methinks  I'll  improvise 
"And  name  a  penalty,  unwise, 
"But  most  intensely  human ; 
"  "Tis  this :  Go  back  to  earth  and  men, 
"Resume  the  flesh,  be.  born  again, 
"And  be,  this  time,  a  woman!" 


201 


THE    PRAYER. 


THE  PRAYER. 

Lord,  God,  hear  Thou  a  suppliant.     Abject 
All   crimson-stained,    1   cringe,    lest   Thou,    in 

wrath 

At  my  presumption,  raise  Thy  mighty  hand 
And  crush  the  worm  that  dares  to  lift  its  head 
In  quiv'ring  fear  to  Thine  omnipotence. 
The  years  Thou  gav'st  I've  drunk  like  honeyed 

wine, 

In  eager  grasp  to  burning  lips  and  heart 
I've  pressed  the  sweets  of  life,  and  drained  the 

dregs 

Of  every  worldly  pleasure.     Lord,  I  dare — 
Yea,  I !  a  lep'rous  thing — the  crawling  things 
Of  earth  of  which  art  'shamed — I,  dare  to  come 
Before  Thy  face. 

Lord,  God,  hear  Thou  a  suppliant.     Outcast, 
World-weary,  broken  hearted,  losing  all 
I  turn  to  Thee. 

What's  this  I've  dared  to  say? 


202 


THE    PRAYER. 


Great  One,  be  blind  and  deaf,  that  I  may  snatch 
This  blasphemy  from  out  the  Great  Beyond 
And  plunge  it  back  within  my  withered  heart 
To  mock  its  human  selfishness.     I  turn, 
A  thing  all  foul  within,  unlit  for  hell, 
A  pigmy  that  infects  Thy  universe, 
I  turn  to  Thee  when  all  is  lost — Just  God ! 
I  wonder  Thou  hast  spared  so  vile  a  thing 
To  soil  Thy  name. 

Emblazon  all  my  sins ;  none  can  there  be 
To  equal  this  most  human  infamy. 

When  once  again  a  suppliant  I  come, 
'Twill  be  to  ask  if  any  good  deed  done 
Can  blot  from  out  the  angel's  record-page 
This  prayer.      Amen. 


OF   THE    NANCY    PRYNE. 


OF  THE  NANCY  PRYNE. 


Under  the  deck  of  the  Nancy  Pryne 

The  captain  sits  with  his  flask  of  wine, 

A  pirate  bold  and  a  pirate  true 

With  a  dirk  and  a  sword  that  would  do  for  you 

A  great  deal  more  than  you'd  want  it  to. 


He  drinks  a  toast  to  the  surging  brine, 
This  captain  bold  of  the  Nancy  Pryne, 
Nor  hears  the  shock  of  the  wind  and  rain. 
"I  buried  him  deep/'  comes  the  loud  refrain 
Of  the  song  he  sings  in  a  minor  strain. 


The  captain  drowses  above  his  wine 
Nor  feels  the  lash  of  the  stinging  brine; 
The  wind  moans  low  in  the  tortured  dark 
And  the  struggle  ends  for  the  straining  bark 
In  a  bit  of  wreck  and  some  corpses  stark. 


204 


OF   THE    NANCY    PRYNE. 


This  story's  trite  but  the  fault's  not  mine, 
'Tis  all  that's  known  of  the  Nancy  Pryne; 
Next  morn  the  song-  of  the  sun-kissed  main 
Called  forth  the  gulls  that  had  sheltered  lain 
"I  buried  him  deep,"  was  its  low  refrain. 


TH.INDNESS. 


BLINDNESS. 


From  sire  to  sire  for  such  long  cheerless  time 

Have  we  accepted  tears  as  heritage, 

And     dol'rous     droned     through     lengths     of 

ancient  rhyme 

With  ceaseless  sorrow  for  unchanging  theme, 
That  life  has  come  to  be  a  weary  page 
And  joy  the  phantasm  of  a  fevered  dream. 

So  long  have  wrappings  of  unyielding  gloom 
Close-swathed   the    heart,   that   we   resent   the 

word 

Which  pleads  for  happiness  this  side  the  tomb. 
For  us  no  note  of  earth  must  vibrant  rise ; 
For  us  the  nearer  music  to  be  heard 
Is  lost  in  seeking  that  of  distant  skies. 

We  call  him  pagan  who  in  gladness  strips 
From  glowing  truth  the  dull,  dogmatic  sheath, 
And  kisses  pleasure  full  upon  the  lips ; 


206 


BLINDNESS. 


We  call  him  Christian  who  embraces  care, 
Who  hunts  the  thorns  to  weave  in  crowning- 
wreath — 
For  heaven  more  tit  if  girded  by  despair. 

We  leave  the  brilliant  substance  for  the  wraith, 
And  deem  him  sainted  by  conjoint  acclaim 
Who  wears  a  smileless  face  in  show  of  faith. 
Like  mewling  children,  of  the  dark  afraid, 
We  cling  to  crude  supports,  abstruse  and  lame, 
And  keep  to  doleful  covenants,  self-made. 

When  will  the  sons  of  men,  as  one  agreed, 
Consent  to  read  the  word  that  shines  above 
Unbound  by  dwarfing  hindrances  of  creed? 
When  will  the  fallacies  to  which  we  cling 
Be  merged  in  one  great  universal  love? 
When   will  we  say  "The  Father,"   not  "The 
King?" 


207 


THE    AWAKENING. 


THE  AWAKENING. 


I  loved  a  man ;  the  image  fair 

Of  all  the  good  the  world  contained 

I  pictured  him.     From  out  my  heart 

The  essence  of  a  love  divine 

I  poured  upon  my  rose-decked  god, 

And  sin  by  sin  I  sacrificed 

Myself  upon  his  altar. 

One  day  impoverished,  abashed 

Before  my  idol's  face  I  stood, 

And  whispered  low  that  all  I  had 

To  give  was  given  :    My  woman's  heart 

Beat  gently  sweet,  I  raised  my  eyes, 

And  lo !  upon  that  perfect  brow 

Satietv  sat  wearily. 


208 


AX    OLD    LETTER    CASE. 


AN  OLD  LETTER  CASE. 


On  your  surface,  old  and  tattered, 
Rest  small  cupids,  ink-bespattered. 
Clasp  is  gone  and  lock  is  shattered. 

Faintly,  as  I  lift  the  cover, 
Perfume  seems  to  rise  and  hover 
Close,  like  words  of  some  old  lover. 

Tired,  or  fearful  of  derision, 
Here  a  hand  has,  with  precision, 
Struck  a  name  from  curious  vision. 

Had  you  voice  would  words  be  teeming 
Of  a  love  that  proved  but  seeming, 
Idle  hope  and  foolish  dreaming? 

Old  the  story,  old  the  sorrow, 
Nothing  new  of  love  we  borrow, 
True  to-day  and  false  to-morrow. 


209 


AN   OLD  LETTER  CASE. 


Quaint  old  box,  how  reads  your  story? 
Fancies  crowd,  and  tinge  with  glory 
Life  that  was  ere  you  grew  hoary. 

Leather  worn  and  satin  tattered, 
Cupids,  roses,  ink-bespattered— 
Like  your  owner's  dreams — all  shattered. 


210 


COMPANIONS. 


COMPANIONS. 


We  two;  with  no  rival  to  come  between 

To  the  death  of  your  ruddy  fire; 
I  have  you  and  my  book  and  an  easy  chair, 
And  the  pictures  you  paint  for  me  over  there; 
And  no  maid  that  ever  the  wrorld  has  seen 
Can  mar  the  peace  that  we  share,  I  ween ; 
Myself,  and  my  old  black  brier. 

What  secrets  we  have  and  what  hopes  divide 

And  what  sprites  of  the  past  invoke! 
There  are  shades  of  forgotten  and  dead  desire, 
There  are  lips  that  e'en  rival  your  scarlet  fire, 
And  the  coal  that  presses  your  blackened  side 
Seems  not  more  real  than  the  forms  that  glide 
Through  haze  of  your  curling  smoke. 

We  two ;  with  a  book  and  an  easy  chair 
And  the  cheer  of  a  glowing  fire! 


211 


COMPANIONS. 


With  the  peace  of  your  comradeship  all  about, 
With  the  noise  and  the  stress  of  the  world  shut 

out, 

We  can  scoff  at  sorrow  and  smile  at  care 
And  dream  of  deeds  that  the  bravest  dare; 
Myself,  and  my  old  black  brier. 


212 


I    THANK    THEE. 


I  THANK  THEE. 


For  fortitude  to  turn  harsh  words  aside; 
For  force  of  will  to  humble  stubborn  pride; 
For  strength  of  heart  to  bear  the  biting  scorn 
And  arrogance  of  one  beneath  me  born  ; 
For  power  to  hide  the  hate  within  my  breast ; 
For  outward  calm  to  mask  a  mind  distressed; 
For  dogged  patience  to  abide  the  time 
When  I  could  claim  revenge  as  wholly  mine. 
Yes,  gratefully,  T  render  thanks  to  Thee 
For  power,  at  last,  to  crush  my  enemy. 


213 


TO    MANUELA. 


TO  MANUELA. 


Mariana?    No.     The  light  that's  speaking 

In  your  eyes 
Is  the  answer  I  am  seeking. 

Mariana?     Talisman  for  sorrow, 

Not  for  love; 
Love  may  die  before  to-morrow. 

And  when  'tis  dead  we  may  deride  it — 

AVho  shall  know?— 
Laugh  when  we  should  weep  beside  it. 

Manana?  No.     Ahora ;  cherished. 

Lotus-breathed, 
Lived,  before  'tis  past  and  perished. 


214 


MANUELA 


OF  THE 

'   UNIVERSITY 

OF 


THE  LIFE  OF  YESTERDAY. 


THE  LIFE  OF  YESTERDAY. 


What  is  the  use  of  the  toil  and  striving 
And  what  will  matter  the  tear  and  smile. 
The  well  laid  plan  and  the  deep  contriving. 
When  lost  in  the  dusk  of  the  after-while? 

Why  fret  the  flesh  with  an  unhealed  sorrow  ? 
The  world  wants  laughter,  it  shares  no  grief, 
Why  slight  to-day  for  a  vague  to-morrow 
That  shadows  all  hope  for  the  soul's  relief? 

Sweet  were  the  faith  to  believe  and  cherish 
This  life  a  spark  strayed  from  parent  flame, 
To  hold  no  fear  that  its  light  will  perish- 
Instead  of  the  darkness,  the  unknown  name. 

Saddest  of  all  is  to  know,  at  parting, 
The  grief  is  mine,  that  the  world  holds  none, 
To  know  the  blush  of  the  dawn's  faint  starting 
Will  shed  its  red  glory  on  all — save  one. 


215 


THE    LIFE    OF    YESTERDAY. 


If  there  be  friend  who  shall  mourn  my  going, 
Though  grieved  my  loss  in  a  single  breath, 
'Twill    send    a    thrill    through    my    poor    clay 

glowing 
And  out  of  the  grave  snatch  the  chill  of  death. 


216 


THE    NEW    YEAR    BELL. 


THE  NEW  YEAR  BELL. 


Within  the  music  of  the  New  Year  Bell, 
I  hear  a  note  of  triumph  rise  and  swell; 
I  hear  its  rhythmic  harmony  repeat 
The  laughter  of  a  maiden  true  and  sweet; 
Attending  close  upon  the  vibrant  air 
Comes  quivering  discord  of  a  past  despair ; 
Then,  lightly  leaping  from  its  metal  throat, 
The  arbitrary  schoolboy's  careless  note; 
With  trembling  pathos,  an  adagio  slow, 
Deep-voiced  and  solemn,  tells  a  mother's  woe. 
The  chimes  ring  soft,  in  ecstasy  divine, 
I  feel  a  baby's  fingers  close  in  mine; 
Then,  sweet  and  clear  a  cadence  speeds  along 
That  brings  to  mind  a  singer — and  a  song. 
I  hide  my  foolish  tears  as  memories  swell 
In  true  accord  with  music  of  the  bell. 


217 


LOVE  S   REIGN. 


LOVE'S  REIGN. 


Poor,  halting  thing  that  creeps  a  little  way 
Low-bowed  beneath  its  burden  of  neglect ; 
It  clasps  the  broken  hopes  of  yesterday 
And  trails  dead  flowers  with  which  its  form 
was  decked. 

'Fear-marked  the  face  that  lifts  with  pleading- 
eyes, 

The  lips  beg  tol'rance  of  their  latest  breath; 
Impatiently  we  bear  reproachful  sighs 
And  chafe  beneath  its  sickening  and  its  death. 

Dry-eyed  we  look,  at  last,  on  pallid  lip, 
Relieved,  yet  half-ashamed  that  pulses  sing, 
And  while  the  new-crushed  vintages  we  sip 
Cry   out,    "The    King   is   dead;   long  live   the 
King." 


218 


WITH    NATURE. 


WITH  NATURE. 

O,  give  me  the  breath  of  the  ocean  foam 

Ere  the  force  of  the  storm  be  spent; 
O,  give  me  the  width  of  the  world  to  roam, 
The  halt  for  the  night  as  my  only  home, 
With  my  way  forever  the  path  apart 
From  the  haunts  mapped  out  on  the  toiler's 

chart. 

To  me  from  the  silence  is  ever  lent 
Companionship,  when  I  spread  my  tent    - 
In  the  calm  of  the  desert's  heart. 

O,  give  me  the  shades  of  the  morning  sky 

That  reburnish  the  slopes  and  rills, 
O,  give  me  the  tints  where  the  shadows  lie 
Soft-rocked  in  the  sway  of  the  zephyr's  sigh 
And  I'll  crave  no  boon  from  the  artist's  hand 
Though   his   kindling   fame   by   the   world   be 

fanned. 

The  glow  of  the  dawn  that  the  heaven  fills, 
The  quiv'ring  light  on  the  sleeping  hills 
Are  the  things  that  I  understand. 


219 


THE  POLE-SEEKERS. 


THE  POLE-SEEKERS. 


From  east  to  north,  as  the  petrels  fly, 
A  snow-squall  whips  through  a  frozen  sky, 
Beneath  tiie  swirl  of  its  widening'  track 
The  sea  curls  up  like  a  dolphin  s  back, 
'Twixt  lift  and  fall  of  the  seething  gale 
White  shines  the  sheet  of  a  ghostly  sail. 

O'er  sodden  decks  in  a  chilling  flood 
Sharp  bites  the  tooth  of  the  flying  scud, 
The  crew  stands  firm  though  the  plowing  keel 
Brooks  no  restraint  from  the  steering-wheel; 
Each  man  so  still  that  the  driving  sleet 
Enwraps  his  form  like  a  winding-sheet. 

The  vessel  swerves  with  a  dip  and  start 
And  sets  its  course  by  the  captain's  chart, 
If  mate  and  crew  mark  the  swift  advance 
They  give  no  sign  by  word  or  glance. 
From  rolling  seas  to  a  widening  slough 
The  ship  drives  on  with  her  silent  crew. 


THE  POLE-SEEKERS. 


The  storm  is  ceased  and  the  sun-dogs  show 
In  purpling  lights  o'er  the  crusted  snow; 
The  wind  that  whipped  through  this  land  of 

death 

'Twould  seem  had  blown  with  a  Lethean  breath, 
For  if  hours  have  passed,  or  if  days  have  sped, 
No  soul  on  board  could  have  truly  said. 

Ethereal  blue  at  the  bow  and  stern 

That  spreads  o'erhead  an  inverted  urn, 

And  in  the  rim  of  its  arching  bowl 

The  mystic  swing  of  the  heavens  roll. 

The  needle  swerves  in  a  circling  ring 

And  the  world  is  hushed  while  the  planets  sing. 

The  captain  bends  o'er  his  chart  and  book 
Nor  heeds  the  scene  by  a  transient  look. 
Arouse  thee,  man,  for  thy  work  is  done, 
The  bar  is  past  and  the  goal  is  won ! 
But  he  makes  no  sign  if  his  dull  eyes  see, 
He  is  done  with  earth  and  its  mockery. 
#  *  *  *  *  * 

The  ship  sweeps  on  through  the  wind-tossed 
sea, 

Through  the  ice-packed,  shoal-ringed,  threat 
ening  sea, 


221 


THE  POLE-SEEKERS. 


Till  the  gray  waves  break  on  a  storm-worn 

beach 
And    the    silence    hears    but    the    sea-mew's 

screech, 
But  the  sea-mew's  screech  and  the  fur-seal's 

bark, 
And  it  founders  there  in  the  angry  dark. 

The  pole-star  shines  with  a  murky  light, 
Like  an  astral  sun,  with  a  frozen  light; 
O'er  the  glacier  beds  and  the  ice-flow's  spire 
The  auroras  flash  in  a  fan  of  fire, 
And  they  mock  the  forms  of  the  corpses  stark 
On  the  ship  that  died  in  the  outer  dark. 

The  frost  hangs  thick  on  the  stove-in  hull, 
On  the  snow-sheathed,  wave-pressed,  battered 

hull, 
And    the    tide    bears    hard    on    the    weakened 

beams 
Till  it  saps  the   strength  of  the  hemp-calked 

seams, 

Till  it  sweeps  away  every  telltale  mark, 
Lest  a  prey  be  lost  to  the  unknown  dark. 


222 


WHEN   CHRIST  IS  RISEN. 


WHEN  CHRIST  IS  RISEN. 


A  mystic  joy  sweeps  o'er  the  drooping  world 
Where  yesterday  a  pall  of  sorrow  swirled 
Its  solemn  length  from  vale  to  brow  of  hill ; 
Each  tiny  atom  sings  with  quickening  thrill 
And  Nature  cries  with  one  according  breath, 
"All  hail,  'tis  Jesus,  King  of  Nazareth!" 
But  man  still  questions.     Fearful  lest  his  eyes. 
Schooled  in  deceit,  deceive  himself,  he  cries, 
"The    proof?"      In   answer,    lo,    the   bleeding 

hands. 

What  creeping  life  so  pitiful  as  man's? 
The  word  was  given  him  for  a  higher  goal 
Else  this  last  shame  had  forfeited  his  soul. 


223 


THE    STAR. 


THE  STAR. 

The  night  shut  in  with  black  and  threatening 

frown 
When   o'er  my  troubled  world  the  sun   went 

down, 

Forebodings  marked  the  time  with  vague  dis 
tress 

That  1)oiiii(l  me  prisoner  to  hopelessness, 
And  darkness  seemed  more  fearful  to  my  sight 
From  having  known  the  glory  of  the  light. 


The  hours  dragged  on;  I  raised  my  drooping 

head 

But  not  in  hope,  I  knew  the  sun  was  dead, 
And  planned  no  life  beyond  the  black  expanse 
When,  lo,  I  saw  a  wondrous  light  advance 
That  glowed  and  grew  until  it  filled  the  skies. 
I    stood   and   gazed   with   yearning,   doubting 

eyes. 


224 


THE    STAR. 


No  more  does  hope's  hurt  wing  trail  idly  down, 
No  more  does  night  shut  in  with  threatening 

frown, 

I  grieve  no  more  because  the  sun  is  gone, 
Hold  no  regret  for  yesterday's  lost  dawn, 
But  bless  the  salient  gloom  that  reached  afar, 
For  else  how  had  I  ever  found  the  star? 


225 


TBIE  INEVITABLE. 


THE  INEVITABLE. 


Christ  is  born  to-day.     Sad  heart 

Look  up,  and  hope. 
Those  who  kneel  and  still  their  cries 
Do  not  know  that  in  His  eyes 
Shadow  of  a  cross  there  lies. 


Love  is  born  to-day.     My  heart 

Look  up,  and  hope. 
Sweet  content  is  all  about; 
But  the  life  blood  will  drip  out. 
Some  dav,  on  a  cross  of  doubt. 


226 


TO    ETHEL. 


TO  ETHEL. 


The  heart's  emotion  finds  no  way  to  speak 
So  poor  is  man  in  gifts,  in  words  so  weak, 
And  gratitude  within  the  throbbing  breast 
Must  ever  rest  there  only  half  expressed. 

Unskilled  I  stand  to  cope  with  what  I  feel 

So  strange  this  element  new  joys  reveal, 

My    heart    though    not    unknown    to    lighter 

mood 
Is  all  unused  to  this  of  gratitude. 

In  other  moments  I  have  found  the  wrord 
Through  which  to  make  some  deep  emotion 

heard, 

Now  fait' ring  tongue  lacks  power  to  overcome 
Its  own  incompetence,  and  so  lies  dumb. 

Not  from  ungratefulness,  although  I  claim 
No  more  of  sentiment  than  others  name. 


221 


TO    ETHEL. 


From  lack  of  rivulets  to  feed  the  spring 
Its  waters  long-  have  ceased  to  purl  and  sing. 

But  now  it  gushes  out  in  force  anew ; 

That  this  is  so,  I  render  thanks  to  you. 

One  sweet,  good  woman  down  my  path  has 

trod 
To  make  this  barren  earth  seem  nearer  God. 


DESECRATION. 


DESECRATION. 


Ferret  them  out — ferret  them  out, 
Label  the  plunder  and  hawk  it  about, 
Dip  grasping  fingers  deep  into  the  dark, 
Draw  from  its  cover  each  skeleton  stark, 
Secrets,  and  papers,  and  letters,  long  penned, 
The    dead    would    have    given    his    blood    to 

defend ; 

No  incident  leave  to  the  mercy  of  doubt, 
Ferret  them  out — ferret  them  out. 

This  is  the  work  for  the  daughter,  the  wife, 
Friend  that  the  dead  man  has  trusted  in  life, 
Each   holds    some  mem'ry   of   weakness   con 
fessed, 

Confidence  given  when  heart  was  distressed ; 
These  trundle  out  for  the  crowd's  curious  eyes, 
If  sacred  the  trust,  then  the  greater  the  prize, 
Rest  not  in  your  effort  till  you  have  unfurled 
All  that  the  dead  has  kept  close  from  the  world. 


DESECRATION. 


Here  is  a  page  where  his  soul  was  laid  bare, 
Ever)'  word  wild  with  a  heart's  great  despair. 
Penned  here  are  thoughts  that  were  never  re 
vealed 

While  he  had  life  and  his  lips  were  unsealed ; 
Locked  in  the  grave,  lacking  power  to  protest, 
Quick-seized  is  the  prize  and  for  barter  is 

dressed. 

Ye  merciless  Vandals  with  talons  of  greed 
Drag  out  his  heart  that  the  vultures  may  feed. 


230 


. 

tints  the 

iftly  to  the  per- 
•  ':.e-laden  breeze 
'hat    replies   as   though   it   plainly   under- 


ON    THE    TAMALPAIS    SLOPE. 


So  do  hearts  imbued  with  sorrow  ever  turn 

where  mem'ry  clings 
And  in  fancy  live  their  happiness  again. 

There's  a  power  that  turns  us  ever  to'ard  the 

helpful  light  of  hope 
Though  the  chief est  of  our  projects  totter 

down, 
And  my  guiding  star  is  yonder  on  the  Tamal- 

pais  slope 

When   I   sink   beneath   the   tumult   of   the 
town. 


232 


HIS    ANSWER. 


HIS  ANSWER. 

Do  I  love  you  ?    I  do,  if  distrust  can  be  love ; 
If  the  fear  that  I  feel  when  I  press  your  warm 

hand 
That    you'd    grant   the    same    favor   to    some 

other  man 
Were  the  time  but  auspicious,  and  I   out  of 

sight ; 
If  the  certainty,  here,  in  my  heart,  that  your 

glance 

Will  caress  me  then  turn  to  some  other,  per 
chance 
Who   has   merited   less   what   I   deem   as   my 

right ; 
If  the  madness  that  throbs  when  I  feel  your 

embrace, 
And  despair  that  o'erpowers  when  I  look  in 

your  face, 

Irresponsible,  weak,  vacillating,  untrue— 
If  a  certain  contempt  that  steals  into  my  breast 
When  the  overwrought  senses  are  stilled  and 

at  rest 
Can  be  love,  then,  I  answer  you,  yes,  that  I  do. 


233 


THE   GOLDEN   GATE. 


THE  GOLDEN  GATE. 


The  sun  sinks  low  and  the  hour  grows  late, 
The  clouds  drift  in  through  the  Golden  Gate ; 
The  sea-gulls  dip  with  a  whirl  and  cry, 
They  scan  the  earth  and  they  scan  the  sky, 
They  dart  and  whirl  with  a  restless  wing, 
Nor  trust  the  song  that  the  breakers  sing ; 
They  know  the  purr  of  the  mighty  sea 
Presages  acts  of  its  treachery; 
Beneath  the  droning  so  soft  and  low 
They  feel  the  breath  of  the  tempest  blow. 

A  mother  prayed  till  the  hour  grew  late, 
"Bring  my  boy  safe  home  through  the  Golden 
Gate." 

A  troubled  ship  on  the  wave  is  seen, 
Her  sails  are  bright  with  a  silvery  sheen, 
She  plows  her  way  through  the  salty  deep, 
While  mighty  waves  o'er  her  bulwarks  leap ; 


234 


THE    GOLDEN    GATE. 


The  tempest's  finger  points  out  her  course, 
She  swerves  and  follows  with  fateful  force; 
She  trembles,  hesitates,  rushes,  dips, 
Her  white-faced  crew  with  their  salt-washed 

lips 

Nor  fear  nor  care  for  the  wind-swept  sea, 
They  sleep  the  sleep  of  eternity. 

A  mother  prayed  till  the  hour  grew  late — 
And  her  boy  went  Home,  through  the  Golden 
Gate. 


235 


IN    MISSION    DOLORES   CHURCHYARD. 


IN  MISSION  DOLORES  CHURCHYARD. 


What  do  they  dream  of  down  in  their  beds 
Lowly  and  still, 
With  the  echoless  sound  of  the  languorous 

rill 

Tinkling-  in  cadences  liquid  and  soft 
Through  the  night  at  their  feet  and  the  night 

at  their  heads? 

Deep  in  the  dusk  of  this  silent  spot 
What  is  remembered  and  what  forgot? 

What  do  they  hold  of  hope  and  regret, 
Laughter  and  pain — 
Is  there  naught  to  disturb  but  the  drip  of  the 

rain 

Stealing  to  cheeks  that  lie  pallid  and  chill? 
What  of  memory  clings  where  the  soul  would 

forget  ? 

Silent  the  lips  where  a  song  was  heard, 
Silence  where  once  spoke  a  deathless  word. 


IN    MISSION   DOLORES   CHURCHYARD. 


This  one  who  lies  here,  think  you  he  knows 

Day  is  above? 

From  the  cypress  near  by  come  the  notes  of 

a  clove 

Telling  his  passion  full-plaintive  and  sweet ; 
Kind  were  the  song  if  the  poor  clay  glows 
Thrilling  again  to  a  love  once  known 
Ere  the  dark  moss  o'er  the  heart  had  grown. 

Linger  awhile  and  fellowship  keep 
Him  who  is  lone; 
Here  no  trace  of  a  flower  or  the  mark  of  a 

stone 

Ventures  dispute  with  the  tangle  of  briars 
That  speak  hoarse  in  the  wind  of  the  one  that 

lies  deep, 

Wrapt  in  the  dusk  of  this  tranquil  spot 
Haply  forgetting,  and  long  forgot. 


237 


THE    MAN   AND   WOMAN   OF   IT. 


i 

THE  MAN  AND  WOMAN  OF  IT. 


"My  vase  is  broken,"  she  trembling  said; 
The  tears  fell  fast  and  she  drooped  her  head. 
"With  tender  touch  I  will  mend  it  true, 
And  make  believe  it's  as  good  as  new." 

"My  vase  is  broken,"  he  calmly  said; 
"But  I'll  buy  another  one  instead; 
One  just  as  pretty  and  just  as  good. 
And  put  it  there  where  the  old  one  stood." 


WILL  YOU    RECALL   ME? 


WILL  YOU  RECALL  ME? 


How  will  it  be 

After  the  infinite  pain  of  the  parting, 

The  tears  and  the  sorrow? 

After  we've  crushed  each  regret  at  its  starting, 

After  the  night  of  the  old  day's  departing 

When  dawns  the  tomorrow, 

How  will  the  world  look  to  you  and  to  me? 

How  will  it  be? 

Will  we  forget 

Things  we  have  loved  and  from  which  we  must 
sever, 

Small  objects  of  treasure, 

Dingy,  dear  books  we  have  conned  well  to 
gether  ; 

Trifles  of  love  we  have  kept  through  all 
weather 

That  happiness  measure ; 

Things  over  which  love  and  labor  have  met, 

Will  we  forget? 


239 


WILL   YOU    RECALL   ME? 


When  all  is  done, 

When  our  hearts,  quickened  by  stress  of  their 
aching, 

Prompt  lips  to  dissemble, 

Teaching  them  smiles,  while  beneath  hearts  are 
breaking, 

Making  them  prate  of  the  new  dawn's  awak 
ing— 

Then,  dear,  should  I  tremble, 

Will  you  recall  me,  when  hope  I  have  none. 

When  all  is  done? 


240 


APOTHEGMS    FOR    THE   IDLE. 


APOTHEGMS  FOR  THE  IDLE. 


What   were   the   summer,    stripped   of   all    its 

bloom  ? 

What  were  the  world,  denying  idlers  room  ? 
The  serious  faces  of  the  spinners  left 
Affrighting  one  another  in  the  gloom. 

Who  finds  his  work  in  life  where  pleasure  lies, 
Who  feasts,  though  he  at  last  of  famine  dies, 
Can  say  that  he  has  lived  though  he  may  hold 
No  fleeting  bauble  that  the  frugal  prize. 

Utility  and  beauty  seldom  mate, 
And  he  who  turns  the  idle  from  his  gate 
Perchance  but  cuts  the  lily  from  its  stem 
To  leave  his  garden  bare  and  desolate. 

When  indolence  would  plead  its  own  defense 
Turn  not  away  in  pride  of  eminence; 


241 


APOTHEGMS    FOR   THE   IDLE. 


The  drone  and  worker  find  the  common  goal 
And  lie  in  lengths  of  equal  consequence. 

Withhold  the  condemnation  that  would  fling 
The  cloak  of  silence  o'er  the  hearts  that  sing, 
The  word  of  cheer,  though  voiced  by  careless 

lips, 
Is  ever  to  be  held  a  priceless  thing. 


THE  MISER'S  SONG. 


THE  MISER'S  SONG. 


My  heart  is  old,  is  old,  is  old, 

Its  warmth  went  out  with  a  dream  untold, 

The  blood  drips  slow  through  each  mangled 

fold— 

I  heal  the  hurt  with  the  balm  of  gold, 
Of  gold,  of  gold. 

My  heart  is  old,  is  old,  is  old, 
Is  hard  and  withered,  and  dead  and  cold; 
Where  once  the  blood  of  my  pulses  rolled 
Now  surges  greed  for  the  yellow  gold, 
For  gold,  for  gold. 

My  heart  is  old,  is  old,  is  old. 
And  dark  and  heavy  as  churchyard  mold ; 
For  I,  like  Judas,  have  smiled,  and  sold 
My  friend,  and  God,  for  a  piece  of  gold, 
Of  gold,  of  gold. 


243 


LIFE. 


LIFE. 


I  saw  a  rose  in  a  garden  fair, 

A  scarlet  rose,  that  I  longed  to  wear; 

I  begged  that  Fate  would  generous  be 

And  give  the  beautiful  rose  to  me. 

She  shook  her  head  in  assumed  regret 

And  answered,  softly,  "Not  yet,  not  yet." 

The  rose's  petals  beneath  the  sun 

Unfolded,  tenderly,  one  by  one, 

Its  rarest  leaves  were  at  last  unfurled 

And  shed  their  glory  upon  the  world; 

I  asked  again,  but  again  I  met 

The  same  denial,  "Not  yet,  no  yet." 

One  day,  the  color  began  to  fade, 

The  scarlet  turned  to  a  deeper  shade, 

The  petals  fluttered  upon  the  air — 

Its  life  was  over,  the  stem  lay  bare. 

All  through  my  life  I  have  known  the  pain, 

The  harsh  derision  of  this  refrain, 

This  mournful  dirge  of  a  life's  regret, 

This  mocking  echo,  "Not  yet,  not  yet." 


244 


FINIS. 


FINIS. 


Around  was  the  evening's  twilight  glow, 
He  softly  whispered,  "I  love  you  so," 
Lip  pressed  to  lip  in  warm  caress, 
Two  hearts  aglow  with  happiness. 

Over  the  hill  in  a  churchyard  gray 
The  grass  grows  rank  in  a  wanton  way, 
The  water  oozes,  trickles  and  glides, 
'Round  the  husband's  bed  the  earth-worm 

hides, 

The  dank  mold  quivers  on  lip  and  chin, 
The  worms  creep  out  and  the  worms  creep 

in. 

The  bells  ring  out  on  the  sunlit  air, 
The  bride  is  young  and  the  bride  is  fair, 
The  world  is  throbbing  with  love  and  life 
The  bridegroom  hastens  to  kiss  his  wife — 
An  ashen  pallor  o'er  spreads  her  face, 
The  dead  man  stands  in  her  lover's  place. 


245 


FINIS. 


The  vision  is  gone — she  breathes  again, 
The  minister  says,  "Till  death,  Amen." 
The  dead  goes  back  to  the  dead  once  more 
As  far,  as  close,  as  he  was  before, 
And  holds  his  vigil  all  grim  and  drear 
Till  her  conscience  cries,  "Appear,  appear/' 

In  a  cozy  room  all  warm  and  bright, 

A  cheerful  sight  on  a  winter's  night, 

A  whispering  low,  "Alone,  at  last," 

Is  caught  and  whirled  on  the  icy  blast — 

"Alone,  alone,"  it  whistles  and  moans 

And  scurries  away  to  the  graveyard  stones; 

It  snaps  the  twig's  with  its  chilling  breath 

And  dances  the  frantic  dance  of  death; 

"Alone,  alone,"  it  hisses  and  shrieks — 

The  green  slime  freezes  on  lips  and  cheeks, 

Through  the  clustering  curls,  the  mouth's  wide 

grin, 
The  worms  creep  out  and  the  worms  creep  in. 


240 


LOVE  S   ABERRATION. 


LOVE'S  ABERRATION. 


She  stands  beside  you  but  in  spirit  kneels 
And  worships  at  your  feet  such  love  she  feels; 
Her  melting  heart  grows  faint  beneath  its  bliss 
And  glorifies  its  weakness  through  a  kiss. 
She  smiles,  and  you  from  your  exalted  place, 
Bend  down  to  share  the  heaven  in  her  face. 

What  subtle  change  is  this  you  now  behold  ? 
What  listless  form  your  coaxing  arms  enfold? 
You  chide  that  she  is  heedless  of  your  sigh 
And  meets  your  glance  with  cold  and  vacant 

eye. 

What  have  you  clone  ?    O,  nothing  much  amiss, 
You've  called  her  Kate,  that's  all,  while  she's 

Liliss. 


GROPING. 


GROPING. 

The  page  of  yesterday — how  strange  the  way 

In  which  its  lines  were  rilled, 

How  changed  the  import  of  the  deeds  wre 

willed 
Seen  through  the  consequences  of  to-day. 

The  stone  that  rests  upon  the  mountain-slope 

Is  harmless  in  its  bed; 

A  word  is  but  a  word  until  'tis  said, 
Then  'tis  the  avalanche  that  buries  hope. 

We  turn  the  thumb-marked  leaf ;  our  cares  and 

strife 

That  have  so  sore  distressed 
We  try  to  bury  in  a  contrite  breast 

And  seek  to  write  a  cleaner  page  for  life. 

But,  somehow,  when  'tis  done  and  conscience 
wakes 

To  run  the  items  o'er, 

We  find  the  same  temptations  as  before, 
The  same  backslidings  and  the  old  mistakes. 


248 


THE  GALLEY-SLAVE. 


THE  GALLEY-SLAVE. 


To  work;  to  weep;  to  struggle;  to  endure; 
To  look  through  tears  upon  a  life's  mistake 
To  feel  forbidden  pleasures  tempt  and  lure; 
To  loathe  the  ties  'twere  indiscreet  to  break ; 
To  gaze  upon  the  coffined  corpse  of  love 
With  dry,  hard  eyes;  to  drain  the  cup  of  gall 
No  help  below,  no  hope  from  heaven  above, 
Just  vacancy  and  numbness  over  all ; 
To  have,  to  hold,  to  tire,  and  then,  to  hate; 
To  burn  the  heart  out  longing  to  be  free ; 
This  makes  up  life  for  that  sad  child  of  Fate 
Who  mourns  beside  a  cold,  dead  ecstasy. 


249 


BARRIERS. 


BARRIERS. 


Shadow  them  art ;  a  dream  of  my  heart 

Forever  beyond  me. 

I  may  not  press  you 

Close  to  my  breast ;  may  not  love  and  caress 

you. 

The  passionate  glow 

Lighting'  your  eyes  'gainst  your  reason  and  will 
Sent  through  my  being  an  answering  thrill, 
Transient  and  swift 
As  light  through  a  rift; 

Not  until  then  could  we  measure  the  cost- 
Eden  forbidden,  elysium  lost. 


250 


TO    THE  OLD    YEAR. 


TO  THE  OLD  YEAR. 


How  privileged  are  you.  Old  Year, 
Behold,  when  life  is  through. 

You  change  the  reading  of  your  name 
And  issue  forth  anew. 

The  follies  left  within   the  past, 

Mistakes  that  you  deplore, 
Are  dead  within  their  hidden  graves. 

And  visited  no  more. 

You  snatch  the  rose  from  pleasure's  bush 

Forgetting  where  it  grew ; 
You  keep  no  cup  when  it  is  drained — 

Ah,  how  I  envy  you. 

New  life  comes  swift  on  pealing  chimes 
\Yith  smiles  of  kindly  fate, 

Lo,  through  the  holy's  mystic  fire 
You  are  regenerate. 


251 


TO  THE  OLD  YEAR. 


I  would  that  I  might  leave,  like  you, 
This  body,  weak  with  age. 

And  as  a  child  begin  again 
Upon  an  unsoiled  page. 


252 


A  CHILD  OF  NATURE. 


A  CHILD  OF  NATURE. 


On  the  mountain's  crest. 
Where  the  eagles  nest, 

I  recline  at  ease, 
And  my  lips  are  kissed 
By  the  passing  mist 

And  the  wanton  breeze. 

Unrestrained  I  laugh 
As  a  draught  I  quaff 

From  a  rippling  stream. 
And  I  feel  the  thrill 
Of  unbridled  will 

Like  a  sweet,  wild  dream. 

In  the  town  off  there 
In  the  sultry  air 

Are  the  fools  at  work, 
And  I  drink  their  health 
In  the  torrent's  wealth 

With  a  quip  and  quirk. 


LIFE  S    MIRAGE. 


LIFE'S  MIRAGE. 


Within  my  bruised  heart  the  night  of  life 
Let  clown  the  sombre  curtain  of  the  past 

Dull-leaded  with  despair; 
Within  the  gray  and  ambient  gloom 

Sat  sullen  sorrow; 

The  blackest  hour  had  come  when,  lo,  a  light 
Illumined  all  the  barren,  arid  waste 

And  Hope  stood  trembling  there. 

I  dared  not  trust ;  T  dared  not  lift  my  head ; 
In  awe,  I  whispered,  "What  art  thou?" 

She  said 

"I  am  the  everlasting  dawn 
Of  life's  to-morrow." 


254 


IN    THE    SHADY   PLACES. 


IN  THE  SHADY  PLACES. 


In  the  shady  places, 

That  the  hand  of  man  has  not  yet  polluted 

Where  the  right  of  way  still  lies  undisputed 

With  the  speaking-  wild, 

I  have  listened  long  to  the  distant  reapers 

As  their  cries  come  faint  through  the  flow 'ring 

creepers ; 
hi  the  shady  places. 

In  the  shady  places 

I  at  times  have  knelt  in  my  soul's  disquiet 

With  my  blood  aflame  in  tumultuous  riot 

O'er  a  stinging  wrong; 

And  the  silence,  keen  to  the  grief  1  smother, 

Calms  my  deep  distress  like  a  tender  mother; 

In  the  shady  places. 

In  the  shady  places 

Where   the   fragrance,    faint,    from   the   moist 
earth  rises 

255 


IN   THE   SHADY   PLACES. 


And  the  winding  path  hides  its  glad  surprises 
Like  a  sportive  child, 

There  I  turn  my  steps  when  the  world  oppresses 
And  I  find  the  balm  for  my  heart-distresses; 
In  the  shady  places. 


256 


POETIC  CHOIR. 


"THE  POETIC  CHOIR." 


They,  jointly  in  the  critic's  comment  share, 
Co-working  lest  oblivion  swallow  all. 
And  stand  together  'neath  the  wondering  sun 
Like  severed  fractions  that  are  brought  to  bear 
In  entities  uniting  to  make  one. 

"Thus,"  each  has  dreamed;  and,  "thus,"   the 

dream  was  done, 

And,    "thus,"    each    praise    to    Eros   has    out 
poured  ; 

The  theme  is  clear,  although  the  text  be  dense, 
And  needs  no  foot-notes  where  the  burdens  run, 
Unless  annexed  to  palliate  offense. 

Poor  Muse !     When  will  a  song  transcendent 

rise 

To  drown  the  carping  travesties  long  borne, 
That  shall  with  beauty  hold  the  listener  dumb 
And  waft  the  winged  word  that  never  dies? 
When  will  a  Moses  to  thy  bondage  come? 


257 


ff  A 

((   UNIVERSITY   ) 

V.  +*L     I-  Mi 


LEST    WE   GROW    TOO   CONTENT. 


LEST  WE  GROW  TOO  CONTENT. 


Lest  we  grow  too  content, 

Lest  the  joys  of  the  world  make  the  pain  of 

regretting 
To  leave  it  too  keen,  we  have  sorrows  that, 

fretting 
Our  souls  with  their  cankerous  gnawing,  are 

given 
Lest  we  grow  too  content. 

As  the  pendulum  swings 

So  our  lives,  ever  pendent  'twixt  laughter  and 
sorrow, 

Today  swing  in  light  and  in  darkness  tomor 
row  ; 

The  tears  or  the  joys  may  be  cut  with  the 
stroke 

As  the  pendulum  swings. 


25S 


UNCERTAINTY. 


UNCERTAINTY. 


Where  will  you  be;  in  the  midst  of  the  throng- 
Close  to  the  path  that  I  travel  along, 

Or  aside  in  the  quiet 
Shunning  the  echo  of  laughter  and  song.J 

How   shall   I   know   you;   by    softly   breathed 

word, 
Thrilling   the    depths    of    the    heart    that    has 

heard, 

Or  by  some  subtle  power 
Potent  as  hope  held  in  longings  deferred? 

When  we  have  met  shall  we  bury  these  years. 
Dead  'neath  the  flood  of  our  penitent  tears, 

And  by  tacit  consenting 
Stifle  the  pain  of  our  doubts  and  our  fears? 

Where  I  now  wander  perhaps  you  abide; 
Or,  you  perhaps  may  have  passed  at  my  side 

And  have  called  in  your  passing; 
You  may  have  called,  and  I  mav  have  denied. 


259 


FALLACIES. 


FALLACIES. 


We  do  the  thing  most  foreign  to  our  will, 
We  rise  in  grief,  and  lay  us  down  in  pain, 
Wre  crave  the  joy  from  which  we  must  abstain 
And  crush  desires  that  would  our  being  thrill ; 
With  fate  we  combat  in  unequal  strife 
And  call  it  life. 

We  build  a  heaven   where   peace  invites  the 

soul ; 
And  earthly  dreams  long  merged  in  shad'wy 

wraith, 

Gain  substance  in  proportion  to  our  faith 
As,  sanguine,  we  approach  the  final  goal 
To  greet  each  ardent  hope  with  bated  breath. 
And  call  it  death. 


260 


REGENERATION. 


REGENERATION. 


I  know  not  when  it  died,  this  love  of  mine, 
Its  life  slipped  out  so  quietly  at  last 
When  all  its  fevered  suffering  was  past 
And  fate,  full  gently,  cut  the  fretted  thread. 
My  grief  was  hushed  as  though  by  touch  divine, 
And  I  could  scarce  believe  that  love  was  dead. 

Such  pain  it  has  endured  and  yet  lived  on ! 
It  seemed  that  censure  from  unbridled  will. 
Full  with  contempt,  had  lost  the  power  to  kill 
So  long  the  pulse-throb  beat  with  steady  stroke. 
New  crosses  crushed  the  heart  that  tried  anon 
To  lift  the  weight  and,  in  the  effort,  broke. 

Now  love  is  dead  what  shall  we  do,  my  heart ; 
Kneel  down  within  the  shadow  of  our  grief 
And  beg  of  heaven  encompassing  relief? 
Thus  be  it  then — our  joy  was  dearly  bougiit. 
From  this  dead  life  we'll  let  a  new  life  start, 
Grown  wiser  by  the  lesson  we  are  taught. 


261 


HERE,   AND   THERE. 


HERE,  AND  THERE. 

To    be    over    yonder    where    fresh    from    the 

grasses 
The    fragrance    blows    softly    o'er    dew-laden 

hills, 
To   catch  the  quick  word   of  the  wind   as  it 

passes 

And  hear  the  low  answer  from  murmuring  rills, 
To  feel  the  salt  kiss  of  the  neighboring  ocean, 
To  thrill  to  each  pleasure  that  Nature  can  give, 
Ah,  this  is  the  acme  of  human  emotion, 
Ah,  this  is  to  live. 

To  know  that  the  herald  of  day  is  o'erflushing 
The  meadows  that  wake  to  the  glow  in  the 

east, 

That  every  soft  cloud  in  the  heaven  is  blush 
ing 

Like  cheeks  of  a  maid  from  a  lover  releast, 
To  cage  up  the  heart  in  a  smoke-begirt  city 
And  strive,  ever  vainly,  to  stifle  its  cry, 
Ah,  this  is  misfortune  deserving  of  pity, 
Ah,  this  is  to  die. 


262 


WHERE  ALL   IS  VANITY. 


WHERE  ALL  IS  VANITY. 


How    smiles    the    world    where    yesterday    it 

frowned 

And  spurns  with  disapproval  ways  and  means 
By    which    we    sought    to    have    our    efforts 

crowned. 

How  smiles  the  world  when  we  have  found 

success, 

How  servilely  it  seeks  the  master-hand 
When  it  has  lost  the  grime  of  weariness. 

When  heights  are  gained,  when  over  tortuous 

ways 

Yet  trails  the  smoke  of  hourly  sacrifice, 
How  trite  seem  plaudits  and  how  empty  praise. 

What   voice  that   now   approves   but  had   as 
sailed 

And  cried  its  condemnation  to  the  skies 
If  chance  had  so  decreed  and  we  had  failed  ? 


263 


WHERE   ALL   IS    VANITY. 


Where  lies  the  joy  to  know,   should   fortune 

frown, 

That  these  who  are  the  loudest  in  our  praise 
Will  be  the  first  to  rend  and  pull  us  clown? 

Thrice  blessed  he,  who,  in  some  lonely  spot 
Apart  from  ways  and  mockeries  of  men, 
Forg-ets  the  world  and  is,  by  it,  forgot. 


264 


A   SPECTATOR. 


A  SPECTATOR. 


Recalling  all  the  sad,  unfruitful  years, 
The  hopes  long  faded  and  the  joys  long  dead, 
And  pausing  where  the  ghost  of  mem' ry  leers 
I  drink  again  the  gall  of  useless  tears. 

An  empty  life,  as  ray  less  as  that  doom 

Which  dogs  the  unbeliever  to  the  grave, 

Or  like  those  flowers  that  droop  within   the 

gloom 
To  powdered  dust  on  some  neglected  tomb ! 

One  said  to  me  :     "My  life  has  been  as  thine, 
"All  aims  were  thwarted,  motives  misconstrued, 
"The  cup  held  poison  where  I   thought   was 

wine ; 
"I  gathered  stones  where  gems  had  seemed  to 

shine 

"And  had  despaired,  but  voices  seemed  to  say 
"  'The  way  of  thy  salvation  lies  in  this, 


A    SPECTATOR. 


"  'Take  up  thy  cross,  and  so,  from  day  to  day, 
''  'Become  more  worthy  of  the  higher  way.'  ' 

Thus  each  man  has  his  concepts  to  defend, 
Each,  groping,  wraps  about  him  some  belief : 
On  life  we  each  a  serious  interest  bend 
All  fearful  yet  all  hopeful  for  the  end. 


2C6 


THE   ELUSIVE. 


THE  ELUSIVE. 


I  am  that  hope  held  sacred  at  the  start 

Of  love's  desire; 
I  am  that  dream  that  fades,  when  dies 

Its  smoldering  fire. 

I  am  that  sweet,  evasive  music  heard 

Above  the  theme ; 
I  am  the  soul,  intangible, 

Of  things  that  seem. 

I  am  that  subtle  longing  most  of  all 

Misunderstood ; 
That  joy  men  seek  to  hold  within 

A  jess  and  hood. 

Some  bauble  ever  floats  beyond  the  hand, 

For  which  man  sighs ; 
Some  ignis  fatuus  ever  lures. 

For  which  he  dies. 


THE   ELUSIVE. 


Illusion  all.     No  heart,  that  knows  the  full 

Of  love  most  prized, 
But  still,  close-hidden,  holds  some  dream 

Unrealized. 


WITH    LOVE    AT    YOUR    SIDE. 


WITH  LOVE  AT  YOUR  SIDE. 


With  love  at  your  side, 

You  steer  your   small   craft  'gainst  a  pitiless 

tide, 

You  brave  every  channel  destructive  and  deep, 
And  laugh  as  the  breakers  in  impotence  leap 
And  baffled,  fall  back.     You  can  safely  deride 
All  impudent  evil  with  love  at  your  side. 


With  love  at  your  side, 

The    darkest    and    narrowest   pathway    seems 

wide ; 

The  sober  old  earth  and  the  gray  sky  above 
Is  warmed,  and  kept  bright,  by  the  sunshine  of 

love. 

No  effort  seems  fruitless,  no  joy  seems  denied 
Who  travels  the   world   and   has   love  at  his 

side. 


WOMAN'S  DESTINY. 


WOMAN'S  DESTINY. 


Man's  heart's  a  vase  and  woman  is  the  flower 
That  sheds  a   fragrance  through  the  passing 

hour ; 

She  sees  love  turn  to  duty,  illy  done, 
Herself  no  longer  wooed  now  she  is  won 
And  destiny,  in  sullen  mood,  at  last 
Conspire  to  write  her  name  within  the  past. 

When  youth  and  maid  set  out  upon  their  way, 
Their  faces  turned  toward  the  dawning  day 
Of  new  born  love,  she  striving  to  forget 
That  o'er  another's  heart  their  lips  have  met — 
Some  woman  who,  perchance,   has  heard  his 

vow 

With  soul  as  full  of  trust  as  hers  is  now — 
She  stills  the  errant  thought  within  her  breast 
And  seeks  to  stifle  doubts  but  half  confessed. 

When  dawn  no  longer  holds  the  tint  of  rose 
And  morning  into  noon  of  passion  grows, 


270 


WOMAN'S  DESTINY. 


She  muses  on  the  times  when  he  has  kept 
Love's  light  alive  in  hearts  now  dead,  unwept, 
And  fearful  lest  she  reach  this  common  goal 
Close  scans  his  face  in  bitterness  of  soul, 
Till  in  his  glance  morose,  disconsolate, 
She  reads  the  first  prognostic  of  her  fate. 

Poor,  helpless  woman,  born  to  be  undone, 
Butt  of  all  evil,  recognizing  none; 
Men  censure  her  for  weakness  out  of  hand 
Condemning  in  her  that  they  most  demand, 
Perforce  she  must  pretend  the  thing  she's  not 
Until  her  soul  rebels  against  her  lot; 
She  calls,  but  lo,  the  gulf  of  sex  is  wide, 
And  she,  a  helpless  bark  upon  its  tide. 

Like  restless  beetles,  on  a  summer's  night, 
Turned  from  their  pastimes  by  a  fatal  light, 
Are  women,  battering  their  better  sense 
Against  established  laws  of  precedents; 
Though  they  succeed  and  gain  the  thing  they 

will 

What  profit  it?  they're  slaves  to  Nature  still; 
Their  lot  will  be  as  it  has  ever  been, 
To  trust,  to  be  deceived,  to  trust  again. 


271 


YOU    WHO    LOVE    ME. 


YOU  WHO  LOVE  ME. 


You  who  love  me,  let  me  know  it, 
Let  your  smiles  and  hand-clasps  show  it, 
Be  not  meager  in  your  giving, 
Kindness  makes  our  lives  worth  living, 
Youth  is  sweet  and  old  age  mellow 
Cheered  by  words  of  some  good  fellow. 

Wrait  not  till  the  grave  has  bound  me 
Ere  you  place  your  gifts  around  me, 
Little  will  I  reck  of  weeping 
When  chill  death  is  vigil  keeping; 
So,  while  skies  are  bright  above  me, 
Here's  to  those  who  show  thev  love  me. 


272 


EARTH -LOVE. 


EARTH-LOVE. 


'Tis  not  the  saddest  thing 
That  we  must  one  day  lay  the  volume  down, 
Its  page  unfinished  and  its  aim  unguessed; 
The  saddest  thing  is  not  Fate's  sudden  frown, 
And  not  the  loss  of  something  that  has  blessed ; 
'Tis  not  the  leaving  of  some  love  long  known, 
Nor  yet  the  dreams  that  have  familiar  grown 
And  not  within  the  grave  is  held  the  sting, 
But  in  the  thought  that  this  fair  earth  will  lie 
To-morrow  and  to-morrow  'neath  the  sky, 
As  fair  as  now,   indifferent  to  our  loss. 
Sore  need  have  we  of  faith  to  bear  such  cross. 
That  ways  well  loved  shall  smile  for  us  no  more 
And  yet  remain  in  beauty  as  before — 
This  were  the  saddest  thing. 


273 


A  DAY   DREAM. 


A  DAY  DREAM. 


Over  yonder  near  the  shore-line  there's  a  sea 
gull  slowly  flying, 

Drifting  gently  on  the  bosom  of  the  land 
breeze  from  the  hills, 

And  he  steeps  within  its  fragrance  all  his 
senses,  none  denying, 

Till  his  brain  is  strangely  heavy  and  his  bosom 
sweetly  thrills. 

Over  yonder  near  the  shore-line  I,  in  fancy, 
see  the  luster 

Of  the  ardent  sunshine  streaming  on  the  hills 
serene,  and  brown, 

And  my  vagrant  heart  is  resting  where  the  red 
woods  thickly  cluster, 

While  my  body  lingers,  helpless,  in  the  smoke- 
encircled  town. 


274 


A    DAY    DREAM. 


I've  a  fervid,  wanton  longing-  for  a  spot  I  know 

out  yonder, 
'Tis   a   little   sun-kissed   picture   that    I    paint 

when  world-oppressed, 
And  I  dream  that  I  through  fragrance  of  a 

phantom  garden  wander 
Where,  in  fancy,  I've  a  cabin  and,  in  fancy, 

am  at  rest. 


275 


QUATRAINS. 


QUATRAINS. 


Live  not  within  the  past ;  compute  the  cost 
Then  burn,  without  regret,  the  bridges  crossed. 
Sweet  yesterday !  A  diamond  past  all  price 
That  slipped  from  out  its  setting  and  is  lost. 

What  one  had  plucked  the  rose  if  he  had  seen 
The  thorns  concealed  beneath  its  tender  green? 
What  tears  were  saved  if  forecast  could  be 

made — 
Tears  would  be  saved,  but  lost  the  joys  between. 

Hold  no  regret ;  what  has  been  done,  is  clone, 
Nor  all  the  waters  that  to  oceans  run 
Shall  blot  the  folly  from  a  single  act 
O'erfraught  with  consequences  we  would  shun. 

Quench  not  the  flame  because  you  feel  the  fire ; 
Fear  not  to  voice  in  prayer  to-day's  desire 
Because  the  answer  prayer  of  yesterday 
Exposed  the  dross  to  which  you  would  aspire. 


QUATRAINS. 


Be  not  too  proud  in  virtue  yet  untried, 
Chance  may   discover  flaws  that  good   deeds 

hide, 

And  many  a  prude  a  wanton's  heart  has  housed 
Yet  lived  in  virtue  and  in  virtue  died. 

Before  great  Midas  men  as  slaves  kneel  down 
To  cry  him  perfect;  but,  let  fortune  frown 
Lo,  all  turn  scoffers  where  they  lately  praised 
And  see  but  ass's  ears  upon  a  clown. 

Ho\v  prized  is  gift  of  wit  with  which  to  lead 
And  foresight  to  discern  the  prurient  need; 
But  prestige  oft  sits  throned  on  emptiness. 
The  way  of  conquest  is  where  vultures  feed. 

Lift  one  above  the  welter  of  the  sty, 

Drag  one  to  dross  of  earth  from  out  the  sky, 

Each  still  himself  remains  through  change  of 

time 
Proclaimed  by  earmarks  ye  shall  know  him  by. 

Who  thinks  that  wealth  lies  in  the  vein  of  gold, 
And  power  within  the  royal  ermine's  fold, 
A  child  is  who  has  heard  the  mother's  voice 
But  missed  the  meaning  of  the  story  told. 


277 


QUATRAINS. 


Think  not  to  shirk  the  problems  writ  of  fate, 
Apportioned  labors  lengthen  by  debate, 
Heaven  tolerates  no  sluggard  who  has  held 
The  lesson  of  his  life  too  intricate. 


278 


TO    MY    MOTHER. 


TO  MY  MOTHER. 

Were  all  the  gems  whose  brilliant  luster  vies 
With  starry  clusters  of  the  changing  skies 
Brought  forth  as  setting  for  thy  perfect  grace 
Still  would  outshine  the  glory  of  thy  face. 

If  all  the  prayers  that  earnest  hearts  have  sped 

To  guide  the  living  or  repose  the  dead 

Be  reckoned  holy  in  eternal  bliss 

Still  must  thy  goodness  overshadow  this. 

Thy  patience  and  forbearance  are  the  light 
That  finds  me  stumbling  through  the  pathless 

night ; 

When  all  seems  lost  to  me  I  have  thy  aid — 
So  much    I   need   thee,    whom   thy   love   hath 

made ! 

Thy  leaves  of  life  may  turn  from  page  to  page 
At  last  to  hold  the  imprint  of  old  age 
Yet  still  wilt  thou  be  beautiful  to  me ; 
Thyself  I  love,  not  this  that  all  men  see. 


279 


TO    MY    MOTHER. 


And  could  all  songs  that  happy  lips  have  sung 
Of  joys  from  which  true  happiness  has  sprung 
Be  gathered  here,  dear  one,  they  would  not  be 
So  sweet  as  songs  that  thou  hast  sung  to  me. 


280 


THE    GHOST    CITY. 


THE  GHOST  CITY. 


Beneath  a  shroud  of  ashen  gray  it  lies 
As  ghostly  still  as  rose  that  fateful  dawn 
Which  shrunk  to  wake  the  day's  o'erbending 
skies. 

Small  whirls  of  powd'ry  dust  lift  now  and  then 
In  silent  eddies  from  its  pulseless  heart, 
Then,  awed  by  their  own  motion,  sink  again. 

Great  arms,  that  scorn  the  shroud,  rise  gaunt 

and  bare 

Unsteady  swaying  in  the  fitful  breeze; 
Strange  flutt'rings,  born  of  nothing,  stir  the  air. 

Dark,  threatening  forms  start  up  as  if  in  fright 
At  one  another;  things  familiar  once 
Lie  desolate  and  strange  beneath  the  light. 

But  when  the  mercy  of  the  night  has  thrown 
A  veil  across  the  pleading,  tortured  face 
'Tis  then  the  well-beloved  claims  her  own. 


281 


THE    GHOST    CITY. 


Then  life  is  seen  and  all  her  ways  of  mirth 
Give  happy  greeting;  pilgrims  from  afar 
Come  back  in  dream  to  each  familiar  hearth. 

All  follow  where  their  inclinations  bend, 
All  find  their  joy;  no  menace  rears  its  head 
To  hush  the  word  where  friend  would  speak 
with  friend. 

Some  leave  the  throng  to  seek  the  favored  spot 
They,  only,  know;  within  its  sacred  calm 
The  glare  upon  the  night  sky  is  forgot. 

O,  broken  City !     Men  may  leave  no  trace 
To  tell  the  tale  of  beauty  that  has  been ; 
And  though  they  set  a  better  in  thy  place 

And  though  they  write  thy  fall  in  chiseled  stone 
'Twill  not  avail ;  supreme  in  loyal  hearts 
Forever  and  forever — thou  alone. 

And  thou  shalt  put  aside  all  hind'ring  bars 
And  rise  again  to  ease  the  yearning  cry 
Of  watchers  dreaming  late  beneath  the  stars. 


282 


THE    CALL    OE    THE   LORELEI. 


THE  CALL  OF  THE  LORELEI. 


When  the  lessening  light  in  her  crystal  cave 
Speaks  the  time  of  the  sunset's  glow, 

Then  the  mermaiclen  comes  on  a  curling  wave 
From  the  cool  of  the  depths  below. 

In  her  eyes  sleeps  the  fire  that  is  caught  from 

skies 

As  they  speak  in  the  lightning's  glare, 
And  the  dusk  of  the  threatening  storm-cloud 

lies 
In  the  coil  of  her  wind-blown  hair. 

To  the  calm  of  a  sheltering  cove  she  drifts 
And  the  sleep  of  the  cliffs  is  stirred 

By  her  call  to  the  far-away  sail  that  lifts 
Like  the  wing  of  a  frightened  bird. 

And  it's  woe  to  the  ship  if  it  swerves  or  starts, 
And  it's  woe  to  the  soul  that  hears, 


THE    CALL    OF    THE   LORELEI. 


For   the   mermaiden's    couch    is    of    grieving 

hearts, 
And  her  cave  is  of  crystal  tears. 

And  the   sweep   of   the   reef   where  the   seas 

upraise 

From  the  wrecks  and  the  bleaching  bones, 
Holds    the   passionate   song    of    her    fulsome 

praise 
For  the  work  of  its  jagged  cones. 


2S4 


BENEDICTION. 


BENEDICTION. 


If  I  may  speak  the  soothing  word 

To  them  that  grieve, 
If  I  may  check  the  sigh  that's  heard 

When  hopes  deceive, 
If  I  may  raise  some  guiding  light 
For  pilgrims  lost  within  the  night 
And  teach  those  hearts  by  sorrow  stirred 

To  still  believe; 
If,  when  the  sadness  of  each  face 

To  smiles  is  grown, 
I  may  be  giv'n  some  sheltered  place 

To  hide  my  own 

Where  friends  that  come  will  leave  unguessed 
That  any  grief  has  touched  my  breast, 
'Twill  bring  me  peace  to  light  that  space 
Beneath  my  stone. 


TO   YOU. 


TO  YOU. 


I  work  and  struggle  and  with  pain  grow  blind, 
Endure  my  longings  and  my  secret  fears, 
Bear  patiently  with  erring  human  kind 
And  teach  my  heart  a  tenderness  which  years 
Of  suffering  had  hardened.     Ere  you  came 
I  hated  all  my  fellows,  and  the  name 
Of  living  thing  upon  man's  lips  to  me 
Was  food  for  caustic,  sour  soliloquy. 
Now  all  is  changed;  from  out  the  portal  bright 
Of  some  fair  heaven  you  stole  to  shed  the  light 
Of  better  thoughts  around  me ;  all  the  bliss 
And  rapture  of  a  life  were  in  your  kiss, 
And  yet  withal  a  mystic  yearning  too 
Which  ever,  love,  will  hold  me  close  to  you. 
And  had  I  come  to  my  last  hour  to  live 
This  priceless  boon  I'd  ask  the  gods  to  give, 
To  hold  you  close  to  my  enraptured  breast, 
To  feel  your  lips  to  mine  in  passion  pressed, 
To  have  your  arms  around  my  form  entwine, 
Forget  the  world  and  know  you  wholly  mine. 


FEALTY. 


FEALTY. 


Not  him  who  pampers  me  may  I  call  friend ; 
Not  him  who  would  my  weaknesses  defend ; 
Nor  who  repeats  with  saponaceous  tongue 
To  lull  ambition,  praise  that  has  been  sung; 
But  one  who  drives  me  with  unyielding  show 
Along  the  path  he  knows  that  I  should  go, 
Who  takes  from  thirsting  lips  bright  Pleasure's 

cup 

And  ever  prods  my  slothful  nature  up, 
To  such  a  one  complainingly  I  bend 
But  still  acknowledge  him  my  faithful  friend. 


THE    NEGLECTED   LUTE. 


THE  NEGLECTED  LUTE. 


A  moldering  casement's  twilight  chill  where 

shivering  ivy  clings 
Now    holds    the   silence   where   a    song    once 

thrilled  the  vibrant  strings. 
Long,  long  ago  an  idle  hand  waked  one  unwill 
ing  tone 
That    now    the    far-off    sea    repeats    in    low, 

undying  moan; 
An  east  wind  spoke  its  sad  complaint  when 

chafed  its  stinging  blight 
And  whispered  to  a  nightingale  that  told  the 

listening  night. 
No   singing,    sun-kissed   sound   of   earth   now 

warms  the  deepening  chill, 
No   passing  breeze,   however  glad,    finds   one 

responsive  thrill ; 
All  mute  it  lies,  each  straining  discord  hushed 

in  gathering  rust, 
The  twisted  strings  confused  and  dead  beneath 

decay  and  dust, 


2S8 


THE    NEGLECTED   LUTE. 


But   had   some  kindly   thought  been   born   to 

light  the  lonely  space 
Or  had  some  breath  of  gladsome  ways  filled  up 

the  empty  place 
Then  had  the  lute  found  out  that  song  which 

joy  forever  sings 
And  it  had  ever  blessed  the  hand  that  woke 

the  silent  strings. 


CARMEL. 


CARMEL. 

Engemmed  between  the  hills  and  bright  blue 

sea 

It  stands  forsaken,  lonely  and  alone; 
Arch,  wall  and  cloister  rising  stone  on  stone 
Piled  up  in  symbol  of  eternity. 

Deep  quiet  broods  on  wooded  knoll  and  plain ; 
The  very  lichen  where  it  climbs  and  clings 
Seems  listless  as  do  all  surrounding  things 
That  thus  beneath  a  century's  sun  have  lain. 

Near  by  a  river  murmurs  through  the  brake 
Whose  reminiscent  whispers  touch  the  ear, 
Of  those  attuned  in  true  desire  to  hear, 
With  echoes  that  the  ages  stir  and  wake. 

And  dusky  forms,  and  cowled  heads  once  more 
Bend  side  by  side  in  labor  through  the  fields — 
With  humble  thanks  for  that  which  each  day 

yields 
Each  bends  the  knee  within  the  mission  door. 


290 


CARMEL. 


And  o'er  the  valley,  still,  contentment  breathes 
In  blowing  rose  or  heavy  tasseled  stocks, 
In  nesting-  birds,  in  meek-eyed  grazing  flocks, 
Or  in  the  lazy  mists  the  ocean  wreathes. 

Here  shall  the  spirit  of  the  past  hold  sway, 
Here  shall  the  mission  drowsing  by  the  sea 
Speak  to  the  restless  soul  its  mystery 
And  show  the  beauty  of  the  strifeless  way. 


291 


WITH    YOU    TO    SHOW    THE    WAY. 


WITH  YOU  TO  SHOW  THE  WAY. 


With  you  to  show  the  way, 

To  break  the  path  and  make  it  clear  of  thorns, 

To  help  bewildered  reason  to  the  light, 

To  set,  and  guide,  poor  blundering  feet  aright, 

With  you  as  pilot,  over  any  sea 

Not  known  before,  the  course  would  easy  be; 

The  world  seems  filled  with  naught  but  what 

adorns, 
With  you  to  show  the  way. 

With  you  to  show  the  way 

How  helpless  and  dependent  have  I  grown; 

I  fear  to  venture  lest  I  stray  afar 

And,  wandering  back  to  paths  where  sorrows 

are, 

Again  be  lost  within  their  Stygian  gloom. 
What   weave   the   Fates  upon   their   shadowy 

loom  ? 

Must  I,  in  some  dread  hour,  walk  on  alone, 
With  none  to  show  the  way? 


292 


WITH    YOU    TO    SHOW    THE    WAY. 


How,  then,  will  seem  the  way? 

The  flowers  will  all  be  dead,  the  birds  all  dumb ; 

The  well-loved   paths,   close-hidden   from  the 

throng, 

Will  all  repeat  my  dead  heart's  funeral  song. 
I    could    not    bear    to    look    on    things    once 

shared — 

One  may  not  go  and  leave  the  other  spared, 
So,   tarry  but  a  little  till  I  come 
And  show  me,  still,  the  way. 


293 


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